The Iron Fist
by Xelius
Summary: Set in the Brood War timeline. The Terran and Protoss worlds have been decimated and ravaged by the Zerg, who run unchecked through the systems. Follow Jesse Mark, a young, Earth-born soldier, in a tale of love, friendship, war, and deception.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE  
  
  
Guess I never should have fallen in love. It started with that girl. I gave her everything that I materially could. She told me she loved me. She told me how special I was to her, and how we would always be together. She seemed to drift apart from me as our relationship grew. I still loved her after everything, and I wasn't willing to let go. We stayed together for a long time after that. I always loved her, but deep inside, I always wondered if she really meant the things she said to me. I started to realize later on that she didn't. Pretty soon the sex was the only thing that was left, but hell, that got old fast. I tried to build our relationship back up, but she never seemed to try. I kept loving her, and she seemed to love me less. One day, she was at my house, but her mom called. Apparently she needed urgent help, so my girl had to split. She told me she would be back later that night. I never saw her again.  
  
She didn't return my calls, answer her phone, and she never seemed to be home. I thought she might have died somehow. Saw her sister in front of her house just a few days ago, and inquired. She said my girl was doing fine. I heard her voice coming from inside, but her sister wouldn't let me in. She brushed me off in a nice way and sent me flying. It's been four years since I saw my girl. Broken hearts cannot be mended. At least not mine. After all this time, I still love her. When we were together, I thought about her every waking moment of my life. Since we haven't been together anymore, I think her about every waking moment of my life, and in my sleep, too.  
  
I've got nothing left, so now I'm leaving. I love you, mom, which is exactly the reason I haven't seen you in two months. Because I can't handle love. I can't handle being in the company of the people I love, because I can't love anyone anymore. If I've got a love-o-matic in me, it really needs fixing. Say goodbye to dad for me. Say goodbye to James, and say goodbye to Tom, too. Tell him I wish him the best of luck in school, and that grade three isn't any harder than grade two, because he's a smart kid, and his mind is growing faster than they can teach him. I will not be back. Where I'm going, I will die. I'll make certain of that. Make sure my girl sees this letter, mom. You know who she is. What she did to me caused me more pain then you could have ever imagined. I want her to know that she is the reason I'm going to die out there. I want her to carry that weight for the rest of her natural life. I love you, mom.  
  
--Last page in the Diary of a Directorate soldier before leaving Earth 


	2. PART 1: FIRST LIGHT

PART 1: FIRST LIGHT 


	3. Chapter One: Birth of the Infamy

CHAPTER ONE  
BIRTH OF THE INFAMY  
  
  
WORLD WAR TWO. Adolph Hitler lay dead on the floor inside his complex citadel, a gun in his hand the final testament to his life. A life which brought endless suffering to Europe and even the countries surrounding it. Hitler's fresh, olive-green uniform holds intact that fragile shell of a man that Hitler once was. His mind, protected by only his skull, is hidden by his black hair and concealed by the German military forces that have been scattered and beaten, and thrown over the lush plains of Europe and USSR.  
  
He has poisoned his wife, a broken cup her own final testament. The dark, murky liquid residing inside slowly crawls outward, spreading itself sparsely across the old, creaky floor.  
  
The German "Messiah" has fled his existence in the physical world, seeking to join the hapless ranks his predecessors. Without his great army of supporters, or his loyal ranking officers in his service, there is no longer a wall dividing him from the chaos that has been created by his greed-stricken plan for world-domination. By seeking to create the perfect world of blonde and blue-eyed Jonnies, Adolf Hitler has achieved nothing but damnation. An eternal, irremovable damnation.  
  
Before shooting himself, Hitler thought long and hard. About many things. About things he could have done to win, but mostly about nothing. His mind was blank, and for the first time he was born witness to his own crimes. Perhaps he had finally seen why so many people had fought against him. Maybe his thick, stubborn wall had collapsed, leaving the death and the rot at his feet. In his mind, a young soldier falls to his knees, bringing his hands together, and begs for death. The poor soldier has killed tens of men. His rifle his own testament, as was Hitler's liquid death.  
  
The fake, young soldier touched minds with Hitler. Hitler finally realized that he had gone out of his way to pain those around him, and even to pain himself. He saw why he has so eagerly hated by the world. He saw why he was hated. He had no friends. He had followers, but didn't everyone? Was it not the strength of one man's will that brought him support? Sure, he had those who followed his ideas. But did anyone actually follow him? Hitler was a difficult man to like. If anyone else had rallied his country for the same purpose, would he not have gotten the same eager support? Hitler was a name without a person behind it. Some scarcely knew what he looked like, and others had only watched his speeches and propositions on an old, static-stricken black and white television.  
  
How many people actually came into contact with the man? Not many. Of course he had his officers, and butlers, but no real friends. Maybe Hitler shot himself for fear of being captured and tortured. Maybe he shot himself out of his own cowardly fears. He was not a man's man. He was just a poor sap scraped up by the media. Maybe he shot himself because he could not face what was to come.   
  
He may not have been cowardly at all, but perhaps only weak in spirit. Or perhaps he shot himself because he had realized why he was declared evil. Perhaps he shot himself as to punish himself. To let his life have at least some honor, some real meaning. Hitler could not be positive, though, because frankly, his captains knew more about him than he knew about himself. Hitler was confused. His officers did not face such a trial at the hands of creation; therefore they had a clear mind with which to think. They knew Hitler's real reason for shooting himself. Perhaps Hitler shot himself in order to eliminate the possibility of him figuring anything out. Maybe he didn't want to know why he was going to kill himself. He only did it, and maybe he wanted to remove himself before he had the chance to fully realize his damnation. Before he had the chance to die thinking he was a coward; the cowardly sense that he may just have had. Or maybe it was just his weak spirit. Or maybe he had already realized, but just didn't understand. Just like he didn't understand many other things. Maybe he shot himself in order to escape the ongoing nexus he had build around himself. World War Two ended on that day. Earth was free. And whatever his reason for committing suicide was, it was miniscule to the reasons of other things yet to come…  
  
Had you explained to a World War Two veteran the importance of colonial militia at every planetary settlement, he wouldn't even have known what you were talking about. During World War Two, millions of soldiers and innocent civilians were brutally massacred at the hands of the fellow man. However, the size of the force that overran the planet of Tarsonis on May 18th, 2500 AD far outweighed even the strongest of armies from the early twentieth century. And the number of deaths that followed the Zerg landing in the Koprulu sector would have been completely inconceivable to those men who fought at Kursk or Stalingrad.  
  
Chau Sara. Population: 150 million. Average temperature: 24 degrees Celsius. Length of day: 23.19 hours. Total active militant forces: 42 000, 375 000 in reserve. With the Zerg first arriving at the fringes of Confederate space, the Protoss noted the major infestation of the outermost Terran world, Chau Sara, and were horrified to find that the Terrans had not yet even discovered the Zerg presence upon the planet. Several remote Chau Sarian outposts had reported unidentified aliens laying waste to their supply lines, and some had even spotted small strike forces monitoring their perimeter.  
  
The Protoss fleet, led by Templar Executor Tassadar, revealed itself just beyond the perimeter orbit of Chau Sara under orders to extinguish all life upon the surface, and eliminate the infestation. Believing the Protoss to be the real threat, the Terrans on Chau Sara rallied to defend their home world. Some 6000 space combat vessels blockaded the planet from the Protoss fleet, just as thousands of infantry and artillery vehicles advanced past bunkers, past perimeter defenses, and loaded onto hundreds of dropships to reach the orbital platforms surrounding Chau Sara to further assist the Terran Fleet.  
  
Tassadar looked on as the Terran fleet sat in silence, prepared to knowingly give their lives for their homes, and for their families. Reluctantly, he commanded that the Protoss ships eliminate the blockade, and proceed with the order to douse the Zerg infestation. Within hours, the Protossian fleet unleashed a massive planetary bombardment, eliminating all life on the surface and knocking the planet 3 degrees out of orbit. Soon after, Chau Sara's atmosphere became clogged with gaseous elements, which blocked out the sun and lowered the planet's average temperature to –27° Celsius. It was declared a "dead planet", and a class five quarantine was forever branded to it.  
  
Terran civil unrest progressed to an all-time high. The Confederate government was crumbling from the inside out as it fought a 3-front war. Not only had the Protoss begun what appeared to the Confederacy as an invasion, but the Zerg forces decimated its army at every turn. As well, substantial rebellious groups such as the Sons of Korhal and the Antigan rebels were pressing further toward the capital world of Tarsonis in hopes of crushing the government completely.  
  
The Protoss next headed for Mar Sara, the second of the infested Terran fringe worlds. Tassadar again ordered the Protoss fleet to pierce the Terran defenses and unleash a planetary bombardment. Mar Sara suffered a much lighter fate than its sister Chau Sara. Nonetheless all surface life was eliminated and the planet quarantined by the Confederacy.  
  
With the pressing assault upon the Confederacy, the Sons of Korhal managed to hack Confederate security systems get their hands on designs for a special component called a "psi-emitter". Its unique constitution called to any forms of life attached to its set frequency. Using it to their advantage, the rebels planted it on Tarsonis, the center of Confederate government, and billions of Zerg were lured toward its signal. Yet again, the Protoss fleet appeared beyond the horizon with orders to eliminate the Zerg.  
  
High Templar Tassadar had witnessed the determination of the Terrans to defend their homes at all costs, and he sentimentally sought a way to rid the Terran planets of the Zerg, but to spare the Terrans in the process. Defying the command of the Protoss Conclave, yet following the stable Khala rule that Protoss must defend lesser species habiting worlds in their shadow, Tassadar ordered his fleet to land upon Tarsonis to brazen out the Zerg directly.  
  
This time, the Confederacy understood why the Protoss had come, and were generally comforted by the presence of such a powerful ally. The rebels knew as well as the Confederates that the Protoss were an infinitely powerful people, and that the Zerg, despite their insurmountable numbers, would fall to the last against the massive Protoss army. Fearing that the ensuing battle between the Zerg and Protoss would allow the Confederacy time to escape the world, the rebels confronted the Protoss directly. At the cost of many lives, they managed to hold them back long enough for the Zerg to eradicate the planet.  
  
The fragile mess that made up a Terran government was born anew as Arturus Mengsk, leader of the Sons of Korhal and choreographer of the rebel attack on the Confederacy, uplifted the devastated world of Korhal as his capital. He laid claim to several other worlds, and with his punctual military, Mengsk had created the Terran Dominion, born to serve the populace and succeed where the Confederacy had failed. Mengsk proclaimed himself "Emperor", and ordered that he be corronated immediately. Suddenly, Mengsk found himself in a position of absolute power over millions of people, and declared that no Terran shall make war upon another Terran, and that no guild shall conspire against another. The new Emperor of the Terran Dominion raised a legion of rag-tag militias and used what remained of the Confederate supplies to fund a massive inter-planetary army. Mengsk knew that the satanic grasp of extinction loomed near, and if the Terrans were to survive the Zerg onset in the universe, they would have to stand united in every way.  
  
The Dominion's call for service did not come unanswered. Millions of men and women stood to defend everything that they had ever known. The Terrans were hard-pressed to realize that the Zerg did not seek to conquer them, but to eradicate them and assimilate them into the swarm. The Protoss, realizing that the Khala law to defend those weaker than them must be fulfilled, interfered with the Zerg invasion. However the Zerg paid no attention. They sat dormant on the conquered Terran worlds. Apparently, they had achieved a reward for their efforts – A Queen to lead the Zerg should the Overmind ever become void of life. Queen Kerrigan, a vile Terran and Zerg hybrid, was born. It would soon prove to be Arcturus Mengsk's worst mistake to leave his Lieutenant Kerrigan defenseless and at the whim of these aliens. The host of the Zerg armies withdrew to their fiery home world of Char, leaving but minute garrisons to hold their new domains.  
  
The Overmind realized that if the Terrans were to become extinct at the hands of the Zerg, the Protoss would have to be defeated first. He knew that this would be his greatest challenge yet, for the Protoss were the descendants of the same great beings that were the Zerg – the Xel'Naga. Yet the Overmind understood that even the highest Protoss Judicators and Templars were nothing in sentience when compared to him. The Zerg would exploit this weakness to the fullest.  
  
During the Overmind's resting period on the far away planet Char, a Protoss assassin named Zeratul, one of the many making up the Dark Templar caste, covertly slipped into a Zerg Hive cluster and efficiently murdered the Hive's Cerebrate, Zasz. The specific Hive ceased to function, and the Overmind was caused a great deal of pain. However when Zeratul killed Zasz, his mind touched the Overmind's and at that moment the location of the secret Protoss home world of Auir was revealed.  
  
As if the Overmind had been lying in wait for this information, he gathered his armies and the beast-like Zerg swarm departed for Auir. If Auir were to fall, the entire Protoss race would crumble, for that planet was the foundation of their strength. Months of vigorous bloodshed took place on Auir, turning her Amazonian fields black and leveling the great Protoss temples.   
  
The hapless Protoss defenders were caught inside a brutal civil war, launched mostly by confusion and misunderstanding. The Conclave sought to punish High Templar Tassadar for failing to burn the infested Terran worlds. They also sought to punish him for consorting with the Dark Templar, ancient warriors of Auir banned centuries ago.  
  
The Conclave believed that Tassadar intended to poison the purity the Protoss race by bringing back the exiles, however Tassadar knew that only the energies wielded by the Dark Templar were truly capable of killing the vile Overmind, and he also knew killing the Overmind was the only way to truly defeat the Zerg. The Protoss leaders believed that they were winning the war against the Zerg, but little did they know that with each triumph, total victory slipped that much further from grasp.  
  
Pushing through the fighting and destruction, Tassadar and his army, accompanied by a small band of Terran rebels under the command of James Raynor, surrounded the Overmind who had embedded itself in Auir's crust. The Conclave viewed this, and concluded that Tassadar was not a rebel, but a patriot. They forgave him for bringing the Dark Templar back to Auir, and gave all of the assistance possible to reduce the Overmind to ashes. Suffering as many losses as the Overmind in the battle, High Templar Tassadar came to realize that even the combined power of all the Protoss armies wasn't enough to defeat the myriad Zerg. As his final act of sacrifice for his race, Tassadar channeled the energy of the Dark Templar through the hulls of his very ship, and gave his own life in order to defeat the Overmind. Upon impact, the vile, bodiless, brain like entity was killed, and its parts scattered into nothingness. Tassadar had succeeded in saving his people. His allies, even the Terran James Raynor, saw what he did. Tassadar had saved not only Auir, but also the entire Universe.  
  
In the months to come, the Zerg continued to ravage Auir, however their unity was lost due to their lack of a significant leader. This offered the poor, new generation of Protoss warriors had a chance to clean their homes from the Zerg pestilence. Never before had the Protoss race been in such disarray. However the Zerg were defeated. Life could finally rest.  
  
Or could it?  
  
December 1, 2502 A.D. 11:01 AM  
Parliament Building  
Stockholm, Sweden, Earth  
  
An eager crowed of thousands had gathered outside the parliament building in Stockholm, Sweden – Earth's capital city and the location of the United Earth Directorate headquarters. A thin line of armed marines held back the uncontrollable mass of people from rushing the currently unoccupied pulpit. A Woman, roughly fifty years old with thick white hair in a green, two-piece suit with gold buttons and skirt stood with a hand full of papers off to the side, and a few feet back. To the right of her was senator Luthric McCalium, a short, stocky man losing hair at an accelerated pace. His dark-blue three-piece suit with silver buttons complimenting the older woman to his left, his shyness was made obvious as he stared down the colossal mass to his front, his black shoes on stage level with the tops of their heads. His eyes glistened with reflections of the puffy white clouds in the sky. It was a sunny day all over Stockholm, hot and dry too – About 30° Celsius. McCalium felt a tiny line of sweat protrude his hairline and slowly slide down his cheekbone, and onto his chin. If left unattended, it could turn to a rugged layer of acne and boils by the next day. At worst, it could become seriously infected, the puss trapped under his skin and in the extremist of situations it could even threaten his life, the Bacteria penetrating his skin and making way into his bloodstream and arteries. The thought of it nearly made him shudder. McCalium reached for his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of cloth, already slightly moistened with sweat, and rubbed it across his face and head.  
  
The marines had locked shoulders, and had their weapons drawn, safety off and pointing to the ground. Outfitted in full CMC-300 powered white combat suits. The dark gray full-head visor covering their heads completely, drawing the idea that they could very well be alien under all of that armor, and the person next to him wouldn't even know it. One who had never seen a marine before could easily mistake him for a robot or machine. Their backs faced toward the stage, allowing the false sense of safety and "their life for yours" sort of feeling to anyone looking at the line's rear. There were no steps leading from the streets to the stage, ensuring that anyone making it past the marines could easily be shot before they had a chance to get on stage.  
  
The woman with the white hair proceeded toward the pulpit, gently placing her documents onto the designated area in front of the adjustable microphone. She looked at the first sheet of paper, unlined and blank with the exception of a few words. Those papers under were probably just for looks. The woman glanced at the crowd, clearing her throat slightly as to get their attention. The marines adjusted the volume control on the combat suits in order to fully hear the speech about to be made. The camera crews promptly flicked on their cameras and microphones and pointed them toward the stage. "Twenty Billion people watching you now, Sara." The woman thought to herself. "Don't screw up." She put her fist around the bendable metal wires going to the microphone, and pulled it closer to her mouth. She made a second clearing of her throat, signifying the fact that she was ready to speak. A man came out the main door of the parliament building, papers in his hand as well, and almost looked astonished upon seeing the size of the mass of on location listeners. His three-piece business suit was entirely black, even the buttons, and his shoes. His dark skin told a story of his nationality. Spanish. His hair was also black. He was clean-shaven, but tired from the long debate inside the council room. The people recognized him as president of the UED, and expected him to come out at least somewhat less discretely. He took his place where the older lady had been standing, the smell of her perfume still present even with the slight breeze. McCalium greeted the President with a large smirk and a trivial nod; returned with a tired, fake smile and a split second stare.  
  
The crowd in front of the stage went silent from their low rumbling, and those not paying attention turned toward the pedestal. The older woman began, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you President of the United Earth Directorate, Marco Fernandez." The lady stepped to the side, and the President was greeted with an earsplitting cheer as he slowly walked across the stage, the wooden boards creaking under him. As he reached the microphone, the lady offered a warm smile and stuck her forearm toward Fernandez. He put his papers in his left hand, and made a firm hand contact with the other, pumping twice and then releasing. He placed his papers on top of the woman's, as had forgotten them in her terrible storm of stage fright. He looked over the mass of people, smiling abruptly at them. He palmed the metal wires around the microphone, and adjusted its position to his liking. He glanced at the first paragraph of his speech, and then faked a cough.  
  
"My fellow citizens, today we have come together to decide the future of our race as a whole. After more than nineteen hours of debate, the council of the United Earth Directorate has come to a conclusion about the stirrings in the Koprulu sector. For months we have been closely observing the fringe wars being fought by the Terran government, as well as the Zerg advance into our colonial territory in the sector, and the Protoss interference in our colonial operations. Conflicting reports received just recently inform us that the Zerg have begun the invasion of the Protoss home world, and that the Confederate government ruling over the colonies has fallen, making way for a new rule by the self-crowned Arcturus Mengsk. The UED council reached a unanimous verdict moments ago. We have concluded that it is now time to reclaim the Terran colonies and take action against the alien advance on our manor. Never before has our race been at such a high state in technology and power. Even as we speak, millions of Directorate soldiers, are making the final preparations for the coming struggle. Never before have we had the intelligence, means, or resources to fund such an intergalactic war. From the beginnings of space travel centuries ago, to the psionic distortions of time and space, our race is finally prepared to expand beyond our solar system, and govern a civilization hundreds of millions of miles away from the borders of our own planets. This is perhaps the greatest moment in history, and will be looked upon as the day of reconstruction. I know many of you may be worried, and wondering if meddling in this war is necessary. But I am here to assure you that I know the brave men and women in command of this invasion. And I am here to tell you that if there is even the slightest chance of success, they will succeed."  
  
Two unarmed men walked onto the stage from behind the doors to the parliament building. The first was a middle-aged war veteran from Germany, and the second a slightly older, more complex French man in higher rank than his fellow. They slowly stepped forward toward the president, as if the whole act had been pre-planned. Fernandez glanced back, and then forward to his papers again, as he continued his speech.  
  
"I give you Admiral Gerard DuGalle, a military veteran and superior tactician. He has been given command of the expedition. If I can assure you of only one thing, it is that his expertise will not fail us. Assisted by Vice-Admiral Alexei Stukov, also a veteran of the military, these two men represent all that we are. They are the best of the best, without question, Earth's finest. If we are to survive, we must rid ourselves of the alien infestation before it threatens our very homes. Today, I have come to tell you that these men and their ranking officers will ensure your continued safety, and that the Human race will forever continue to defy the volatile grasp of extinction."  
  
Fernandez rose to a fully upright position, hinting that he had completed his announcement. The mass in front of the stage began to hiss, their sounds soon turning to a thunderous cheer. As Fernandez felt a wave of adrenaline flow through his body, he struggled not to fleetingly shake his head involuntarily as to look like a wet dog. An enormous smile emerged from his lips, and he felt himself spring forward very unprofessionally and grab the microphone again. "Long Live the United Earth Directorate!" He shouted, nearly laughing. The enthusiasm of the crowd before him was just what he had been hoping for.   
  
The Admiral stepped forward to prepare his speech, as the marines guarding the stage were being pushed further and further backward, violently shoving and picking fights with those in the front rows of the crowd. One man tried to climb over a marine, and jump onto the stage. Probably for no reason other than to get on holovision. Before he could make it over, however, the marine grabbed him from the shirt and threw him onto the ground. The crowd was beginning to burst into chaos, and the President knew that they would have to be disbanded immediately. The Admiral was about to greet the crowd, but Fernandez put his hand on his shoulder, shaking his head slightly and whispering into the Admiral's ear. DuGalle nodded, and shut off the microphone. Reserve guards were sent in to maintain the sea of enthusiasts as the officers and government representatives returned to the parliament doors. McCalium quivered at the sight of the bedlam and thought to himself. "Long live the Directorate. Long live it indeed." 


	4. INSERT: THE STORY SO FAR

INSERT  
RECAP OF THE STORY SO FAR  
  
  
Even with the death of the Overmind, the remaining Zerg broods on Auir continue to eat away at the final traces of civilization upon the once mighty planet. The Protoss, aided by the ancient Dark Templar caste, fight in desperation to defend their home.   
  
Without a clear leader, the frightened Zerg occupying nine of the thirteen Terran worlds begin to fight amongst each other, raping the planets a second time. Meanwhile, Emperor Arcturus Mengsk sees his opportunity and begins to organize his militias to retake the worlds that the Zerg have stolen from his people.  
  
As the forces of the United Earth Directorate arrive at the fringes of Dominion space, they prepare to put a stop to the chaos in the Koprulu Sector by taking control of the remaining colonies and eradicating the Zerg. Originally intending to enslave the Overmind and use the Zerg as puppets, the fleet has no idea that it has been killed during their long trip from Earth.  
  
And upon the Zerg home world of Char, a new Overmind enters incubation. Countless Zerg, anticipating the naissance of their new leader, await the ability to reinforce their stranded brethren. 


	5. Chapter Two: The Meddlers

CHAPTER TWO  
THE MEDDLERS  
  
  
February 19, 2503 A.D. 2:04 AM  
UED Flagship Aleksander  
  
ADMIRAL GERRARD DUGALLE STOOD STRAIGHT UPWARD, his hands, covered by his black gloves, placed behind his maroon leather uniform. The shiny silver buttons on his chest glistened from the light of the stars, reflecting their ominous glow. The maroon cap, complete with the central pin of golden wings, covering his fairly bald, unaccented head shadowed his eyes from the bright wall-sconse. The black belt tied around his waist revealed his lower body shape, and the golden buckle at the tip stood as a centerpiece to the Admiral's body. Almost a containment device, such as the one that you could find on a beast made entirely of null matter.  
  
Gerard looked out upon the vastness of space from the only window in his rather large chamber onboard the UED flagship Aleksander. One of the wraith vessels patrolling the ship's perimeter flashed in front of his window, and then dropped down below his line of site. The stars beyond his window seemed so far away, millions of miles. It would take a long time to reach the next star-system, should there be need to go. However the trip would be pointless. The planets surrounding those stars were uninhabited, and most of them were unstable. Accident-prone could be a way of putting it, if that's what you call a solar system full of planets that tend to smash into each other or combust for no apparent reason. The Admiral had visited the AM-362 star system at one point in his life. He could fondly remember one planet so far away that it's own sun appeared no larger than any traces of light seeping through its atmosphere from other stars. And that the other three planets orbiting the sun were less than 25 million miles away from the gargantuan heat source, their night temperature at a cool 13 degrees Celsius and more than 950 degrees during the middle of the day.  
  
He also remembered a planet having many, many moons. He had visited there to quash a rebel outpost some ten years ago. The planet was approximately 422 000 kilometers in diameter, and was surrounded with more than eighty moons. Some of which were so crater stricken that they could hardly be called moons. Why he had brought this up in his mind, he wasn't sure. Perhaps the openness of space reminded him of his younger, more active days when he was so much more free. This far out from the Koprulu Sun, Gerard was sure that the temperature in space was at least a third of the way to absolute zero: the temperature when atoms stopped moving. He could see the sun, just a simple white dot off in the distance shrouded with a faint glow. He could relate this site to what he had seen several months ago when the Directorate fleet was still in Earth's view, just passing by one of Saturn's moons, Iapetus. It was a beautiful thing to see, however it also reminded him of the loneliness of space, and just how alien this place really was.  
  
Though the Directorate had come to lay claim to its own colonies, it was easy to feel unwanted and unwelcome in this place. Just coming into view was the Dominion border world of Braxis, signaling the entrance to the domain of the stable, yet fragile, Terran government. The ice and snow covered "white monster" was largely uninhabited, with only a few tens of infant cities no more than a hundred years old spanning across its great, single continent. Who could possibly want to live this far away from the rest of civilization? The planet's oxygen was still very thin after atmospheric terraformation had begun a mere ninety years ago. Many people suffering from respiratory problems had to be hooked onto an all-day oxygen machine. Braxis' days were 29.18 hours long, adding an extra five hours of daylight to a full rotation of the planet when compared to Earth. At such a distance from the sun, colossal solar panels the size of Texas were put in full time orbit to ensure that the planet received as much of the Sun's heat as possible. And even with the panels, average planetary temperature was –4° Celsius. The planet's capital city was Boralis, only 800, 000 citizens strong. The first major Directorate foray against the Dominion would be fairly straightforward, however since it was the Dominion border world that would suffer the assault, it was sure to be heavily garrisoned.  
  
Admiral DuGalle's room was filled with the sweet sound of soft music from an old, rustic, twentieth-century record player. He had brought the device along for the trip sentimentally, and used it every evening to help erase his cold surroundings. Under his feet was a hard gray carpet-like lining, which extended up the walls and onto the ceiling above him. To his behind was a small, black table with short gray legs, and on the other side of that was a green velvet couch large enough to sit three people. On the wall he had hung a lone picture of himself, arms around his wife Helena as a faint reminder of the times they once shared before his departure. His eight-year-old daughter Gina with her blonde hair and green eyes to her mother's side, and his son Ric, nine years old with brown hair and brown eyes, held his hand. Gerard closed his eyes for an extended period of time, what were only minutes but seemed to be hours to him, and turned around. The solid steel door to his right and on the opposite side of the room would slide upwards on detection of a person in front of it. It was locked. He passed by his small table and headed toward the bar at the back of the mostly empty chamber. He made himself a drink, added an olive for self-presentation, and then searched through the tall, brown bookshelf dividing his bar from his bed. The small, single-person bed with a wooden frame and a hard mattress offered little comfort during the night, his mushy and thin pillow doing little to support his head when he would toss and turn, grunting and cussing at his diaphanous, sweat-drenched sheets.  
  
He pulled a book halfway out, stopped for a split second, and then put it back. "No", he thought, "I don't feel like reading tonight". He grabbed the thin toothpick from his glass, and slid the olive off with his teeth, chewing it slowly as he mashed it around with his tongue. The bubbles were rising quickly out of his drink, bursting soundlessly as they reached oxygen above the liquid. He paced over to his black desk, sat in his gray, leather office-like chair, placed the martini glass onto the edge, and flicked on the small, personal light attached to the hutch. He opened up his laptop device, switching a sliding red button on the side towards him. Within seconds, a dim light appeared from the top of the base, and a small BIOS menu displayed the system status of his personal computer. Gerard read it to himself. "23 Terrahertz, 466 Gigabytes of RAM, Severtronics 25THz MAX motherboard, 280 Terrabytes of Drive Space. Not a bad system these technicians have put together." The device ended its short loading period, and a menu appeared with several buttons. Gerard reached into the light, and put his finger in the button labeled "E-mail". A beep came out of the side speaker, and his pre-set email program was brought up. He filled in a couple of fields, checked the voice message box with his finger, and put it into a main text entry box. He reached behind the computer, flicked a blue switch, and began to speak toward it.  
  
"Dearest Helena: We are slowly approaching the controlled space of the Terran Dominion. After more than a year of being aboard this horrid battlecruiser, it may finally be time to break from this insanity. I had dreaded having to stand on the battlefield when we left; however now I am beginning to realize that I am actually looking forward to it. The ship's engine rumbling has constantly annoyed me, despite the fact that it is barely noticeable. The hours seem to turn to days so far from home, and much of the crew has had their toll taken on them already. The fleet will reach Braxis within eight standard hours, and the true battle shall begin there. It is not so much our alien-like brothers which I fear I may have to face in combat that frighten me, but the terrible beasts known as Zerg. I have heard the stories and seen the records of entire armies being ripped to shreds by the massive hordes. It appears as though they will stop at nothing in their mad lust for power. I have vowed to stop this at the cost of being with my family. This far from a sun, the true vastness of space has begun to tickle me. I had never realized how large this universe is, and more, how far things are from each other. Even traveling at many times light-speed, it seems as if the ships are not moving at all. I haven't noticed movement in any of the stars, and my only reassurance that we are actually traveling is seeing the giant snow-planet Braxis grow larger every time I look out my window. I cannot hazard to guess the look on the face of the damnable Arcturus Mengsk when he sees our massive fleet en route to his home world. However I do not expect him to even know of our arrival until we have gained our foothold in his empire and added some of his own colonial conscripts to our ranks. I can only imagine the terrible war that is coming… Nonetheless, it is our mission. We will assume control of the Terran colonies and capture the Zerg Overmind in the name of humanity. We have been charged to protect the people of Earth, and so shall be done, love."  
  
As Gerard spoke into his computer, his words were displayed in the text box that would accompany the sound message. He breathed deeply, and then released all of the air in his lungs as he continued to speak into the machine.  
  
"I suppose that at this very time our children are being released from school for the weekend. When they get home tell them that I love them, and that I will be returning home when my work here is done. If they ask where I am, tell them I have gone to help build their future, and that I miss them very much. My dear, I cannot describe how much I miss all of you. I had never thought that I could feel so alone, so empty. The coldness of my chamber and the emptiness of the bridge are unbearable. The day I return home I shall return as a new man, a new husband, and a new father. Save the first and last month of this journey, I have spent a year in stasis. I have no more time to spend on myself, so now I must go in preparation for combat. I will write again soon Helena. Deepest regards, Gerard."  
  
The Admiral leaned back in his chair and scratched his right eyebrow with his knuckle. With a quick motion of his finger he clicked the send button. A two second count-up of percentage sent was displayed, and then the computer signified the message had been received. Gerard grabbed the top flap of his computer and pulled it over the small control panel on the front. He pushed it up against the hutch of his desk, and then he stood up. After clearing his throat, Gerard picked up his martini, walked back across his chamber, and to the lone window near the door. Staring at the endless void in front of him, he shook his head and chuckled. The ship's computer contacted his room. "Admiral," The soft toned, feminine-like computer changed to a noisy recording from outside. "Alexei." the recording quickly ended and the computer returned to speaking. "Is requesting access to your room."  
  
Gerard replied. "Come." The door to the right wall behind him opened, and the scruffy, half-drunken Vice-Admiral Alexei Stukov stepped inside. He was outfitted fully in uniform, with the exception of a hat. His black suit and tall, thick boots covered his body, making him look that much more intimidating. His clean-shaven face contradicted his messy, uncombed black hair and very dark brown eyes.  
  
"Ah, my good Alexei. I see that you are having ever the time being entertained by your empty bottles of vodka. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"  
  
"It is good to see you too, Gerard." Alexei replied. "I have come to remind you that the fleet is a matter of hours away from Braxis."  
  
"I know, I have been looking at the planet for some time now. If I may suggest one thing to you Alexei? Have a cold shower and stop abusing your liver, at least until the battle for Braxis is over. I cannot allow you to take command of the fleet in your current condition."  
  
"I apologize, my good Admiral. I will be completely sober in perfect time, don't worry about me."  
  
"I won't have to. Now, I believe that it is time to begin preparations for the landing at Braxis. Shall we?"  
  
"Already under way, Gerard. I've taken care of everything from fuel management to tactical formations. We are completely ready for anything."  
  
"Excellent. I may have underestimated your readiness for this."  
  
"Heh heh," Alexei took a deep breath. "Gerard, in all the years we've been friends I would imagine that you would have thought me to be smarter than you do."  
  
"Alexei, you're the smartest one I know."  
  
Alexei smiled, and inhaled deeply again. "Now, I believe that we should talk strategy, Gerard. The recent loss of the siege line to the Protoss was not a decisive one, nor did we suffer extensive casualties, however the moral of the troops involved in the battle was severely affected. I could go as far as to say that some of them are beginning to believe that this mission may be a failure."  
  
The Admiral reached into the interior of his uniform and pulled out a silver case and a designer lighter. He opened the case, and pulled out an expensive cigar. He carefully placed the drug onto his lips, and supported it with his index and middle fingers. He flipped open the lid to the lighter, and sparked the flame. With his right hand he brought the glowing, orange fire closer to the tip of his cigar, and, closing his eyes as it lit up, smoke lightly rose from the burning tip as he sucked the drugs contained within into his lungs. The burning head of the cigar went slightly red, and then returned to it's grayish-black color. The Admiral opened his eyes, and blew a cloud of smoke from between his lips into the air, the bluish haze overtaking the area above his head and then dissipating into nothingness as he brought the cigar down to the area above his stomach and rested his arm there.  
  
"Ah, Alexei. It was not without serious consideration that I had decided to intervene with the Protoss affairs at such an early point. It was not favorable to suffer a loss so early in the expedition, I admit, however I don't think that this should be a problem. The Protoss are not the ones that we have come here to face, and I highly doubt that we should be having any confrontations with them in the near future."  
  
"You can talk the talk Gerard. But if the Protoss were to want to strike back at us, do you think you would still support this opinion? That we are in some sort of position of power all the way out here?"  
  
"Alexei, we have come to face the Zerg. Not the Protoss. If we are to complete our goal, we must do everything possible to dominate the sector."  
  
"So, my friend. Exactly what are you attempting to tell me?"  
  
"Follow me, Alexei. I want to show you something."  
  
Gerard opened his door, and signaled for Alexei to exit. After Alexei was outside, Gerard followed and key-locked his door. The two men walked side-by-side down a metallic catwalk, hands on the rail and shoes clanking beneath them. They headed down two flights of metal stairs, and then went passed the crew deck full of the chambers of the ship's various crewmembers. They then went into an elevator. Gerard entered before Alexei, and after the doors shut, spoke out.  
  
"Computer. Take us to the bridge."  
  
The computer confirmed the order and the elevator began to move quickly enough for the men to feel its velocity. Upon arriving at Aleksander's bridge, the two Admirals were greeted by salutes from the crew and a magnificent array of flashing buttons and lights. Surrounding the dome-shaped bridge and steel floor was a completely round panel of glass spanning the whole distance, so clear that you could barely tell anything was there.  
  
"Mr. Munstien," Gerard said to the pilot, "Take us ahead of the fleet to Braxis' moon. Warp speed."  
  
"Aye Aye, Admiral." Replied the middle-aged man.   
  
Gerard turned to Alexei. "The Zerg invasion of the Dominion fringes had been ongoing since the UED fleet left Earth one year ago."  
  
"I know, Gerard." Alexei instantly understood what he was about to see. The ship's engines increased in loudness, and the stars turned into streaks on the windows.  
  
  
  
  
The hulking, mysterious battlecruiser loomed over the trenches on Braxis' moon. It's lights shone down toward the battlefield and revealed the blood and entrails of the advancing Zerg, downplaying the flashes of light of the Dominion marines and their guns. The three separate sources of the light underneath the command ship itself, pointed directly downward, leaving a thin trail of brightness which made the smoke and air residue down below visible. With Braxis completely blocking out the Sun's light, the moon was left a dark, cold shadow for the taking. Still, the mysterious, single battlecruiser brooded overtop the trenches, offering no air support to the wrecked souls fighting down below.  
  
It was nothing but a lonesome shadow, not high enough to see much further than the trenches, but not low enough to hear calls for help. Not low enough for the dying, fatigued warriors defending their home to plead for support. Many of the defenders of the moon colony were forced to stare in awe at the massive ship, wondering why it was there, and what purpose it had intended to serve. The horrified marines, in a state of shock, prayed for a single, well placed blast from the dormant support above them. Prayed for a second chance. In this situation, it looked like they may even be praying for a first chance. The Zerg were indeed more than a match for these Terrans. Whatever the battlecruiser was doing, the warriors had given up hope. They were only awaiting their death on the tenterhooks of the Zerg. The loud fire from the guns of the warriors grew steadily silent, with men emptying entire clips and hitting nothing. The sound of bursting caps turned into dead clicks and ammo-less attempts for survival.  
  
But overhead, inside the Aleksander, the Admiral watched through the window with intent. Safe from the bloodbath taking place below, safe from whatever may be going through the heads of those men.  
  
"Alexei," Gerard called, "come here."  
  
The Vice-Admiral made his way over to his Admiral and looked at him with question.  
  
"What are we doing here, Gerard?" Alexei asked.  
  
"Watching. Anticipating their next move. Studying their ways."  
  
"Blah! We've all seen the tapes a hundred—"  
  
"You've seen nothing!" Gerard grabbed Alexei by the uniform and pulled him closer to his face, griping on firmly with both hands. "Dissecting a dead Zerg is nothing in comparison to actually watching them fight. Watching scientists explain the body parts is useless. We have not come here on a science expedition, Alexei. This is a fight. A fight for our lives, the lives of our comrades, and the lives of countless billions of others. The Zerg cannot be allowed to rampage unchecked in this manner." Gerard released Alexei from his custody.  
  
"You could have shown this to me this on the holodeck under the protection of the fleet."  
  
"This is going to be your most important test ever, Alexei. You cannot compare watching pixels running around at an artificial intelligence's whim to this. Look closely. Watch these men bleed. Real blood. Watch them suffer. hear them scream. Hear the guns run wild. Listen as these men let loose bullet after bullet on the beasts that threaten their very lives. Watch the carnage. Tell me that this is not different than the holodeck. Tell me that you cannot tell the difference between these men and a computer-generated image! You must go into this with both eyes open, Alexei. Once it has begun, you cannot turn back. Are you prepared to go all the way?"  
  
The flicker from short bursts from the guns below lit up the windows in front of the Admirals. Their sounds were silenced by the ship's armor, but not unknown. The lights below the ship clearly made visible the dog-like pack of zerglings headed straight toward the Terran trenches. Formations of tens, and hundreds advancing twenty meters per second over the moon's dark, cracked soil. Heavy flames from the firebat's twin flame-throwers sizzled those unfortunate enough to be caught within its wrath. Alexei stared helplessly at the carnage below, mouth nearly hanging open. He squinted, his eyes becoming engulfed with his brow's skin.  
  
"Yes. Yes my dear Admiral. I am prepared to go all the way with this." He pronounced.  
  
"Good." Replied Gerard.  
  
"I had never thought that these… these grunts were forced to withstand such havoc. I had thought so poorly of them in the times past. I have punished men such as these for being disobedient, but never had I thought that they had already been through this. They are already being punished. Gerard… I don't know what to say."  
  
"Don't say anything, my friend. We are not as carefree as these Dominion slaves. We fight differently. We fight as humans should. Not with blunt force, but tactically. We arrange plans ahead of time. Never will one of your men have to suffer like this."  
  
Suddenly the Aleksander's main pilot turned wildly in his chair to face the Admiral.  
  
"Sir," he exclaimed, "this colony's base will be completely overrun within minutes. Shall we intervene?"  
  
The Admiral turned his attention toward the pilot. "Take us into orbit Mr. Munstien. We've seen enough."  
  
The ship's engines were set to full power, and a blistering push came from the ship's behind. Within seconds it was working it's way up to full speed, running from the marines in the trench, it's altitude being slowly raised as it crept closer to the nebula-like greenish-yellow sky. A light trail of disruption left behind it, the battlecruiser headed upward toward the sky in defiance of the doomed defenders of the colony.  
  
"Gerard, what are you doing?" Alexei questioned with a sense of urgency in his voice.  
  
"We are leaving. Say goodbye to this wretched moon." Gerard replied.  
  
"We can't just take off like this. What about the soldiers below? Have you not a heart large enough to do something for them?"  
  
"We haven't come as patriots, Alexei. Our job is to defeat the Zerg, not save lives. We will return with the fleet to retake this moon shortly."  
  
"You are literally ordering the deaths of twenty-eight hundred innocent civilians, Gerard. I urge you to reconsider."  
  
"No, and I won't hear another word of it. Alexei, you must know that it is not always the wisest thing to do to simply charge in like an angry chicken."  
  
"Gerard…"  
  
"You may return to your duties Alexei. That is an order."  
  
The Admiral, uncharacteristically, ordered Alexei out of his sight. The Vice-Admiral reluctantly headed away from the bridge, head low and fists tight. But his opinion wouldn't matter. He had been out-ranked.  
  
"Warp speed, Mr. Munstien." The Admiral ordered. The mysterious battlecruiser disappeared, leaving the moon to fend for itself. 


	6. Chapter Three: Incursion

CHAPTER THREE  
INCURSION  
  
  
11:37 AM  
Boralis, Braxis  
  
THE MASSIVE THRONG OF ANXIOUS MEN HAD LINED UP OVER THE SNOW DRIFTS beyond the walls of Boralis. Thousands of marines in their monstrous white and black environmental protection armor stood with visors open, short on breath from the thin oxygen and freezing cold from the below-zero temperatures of Braxis. These humble Directorate grunts, complete with neural re-socialization chips, were prepared to die for their planet. They knew the risks they were taking, and they knew the consequences of even the tiniest mistake. Death. On the battlefields of the twenty-sixth century, no man was safe from the intense bombings of the massive siege tanks, or the rapid-fire auto cannons of an enemy goliath pilot. The main military body of the Directorate assault, covering the thick snow, looked like large clumps of buried objects with their appropriately white combat armor. Every now and then puffs of smoke rose up into the air above the army from the cigarettes of the smoking marines. The haze of it all was quickly spread away by the hard-blowing wind. There was no doubt that the addicted soldiers were smoking a least a thousand cigarettes simultaneously. Some of them enjoying what could potentially be their last few puffs, with other non-smokers (but not many) repulsed by the smell.  
  
Squadron Commander Jesse Markham, one of the men unfortunate enough to be at the front lines of the attack, was not a smoker. He had never smoked, although he had tried it. During his high-school years the pressure of other smokers began to get to him, and so he decided that he would try it. One cigarette, nothing major. He got his hands on one at school, and after dismissal went around back to smoke with the others. As soon as he had taken his first puff, he began a coughing fit, clutching his chest and sticking out his tongue from the abhorrent taste. The others just laughed at him as he stomped out the cigarette and stormed away with the hottest, reddest face he had ever had. That was the end of that.  
  
Jesse raised his 8mm C-14 'Impaler' gauss rifle, which he held firmly in his right hand, and removed it from the cold, ice-like snow. It was a heavy, black, killer with a long nozzle, and a supporting arm rest on the back. It had a single trigger grip, and could be handled at the front for maximum control over the shot. The gun fired 8mm spike bullets at hypersonic speeds, designed to penetrate and kill anything coming in contact with them. In order to preserve precious ammo during the rapid fire, the gun used a capacitator system that fired in short, controlled bursts and helped to minimize power requirements.  
  
Jesse's CMC-400 powered combat armor was a heavy, cumbersome block of alloy shaped like a human, and was comprised of several parts. The boots, tall and featureless, linked to the heavy leg pieces. In turn, the leg pieces connected to the bold upper-body outfit, which stemmed two detachable arm pieces. And the gloves, bendable, yet thick and oddly leather-like, finished off the suit. Finally came the helmet, a large white shell with a movable, un-breakable dimmed glass at the front, larger than the face. All joints were movable, and there was extra space inside so the same models of the suit could fit people of various sizes. Though the suit was difficult to maneuver in, and very restricting in view, it was a prerequisite for any soldier from the Directorate fighting in these alien conditions. Once fully assembled and internally pressurized, the suit offered temperate conditioning, life support, night vision, infrared, heat detection, temperature readings, shoulder-mounted flashlights, stim pack, and more. Often used to waste time when suit operators were bored, these features had proved invaluable many times in the past.  
  
Jesse looked at the small LED on his right arm. There was a temperature reading in green letters, and a small radar with moving pointers. The LED displayed –13° Celsius. "How can they live out here?" Thought Jesse, his visor wide open exposing his face to the cold. He looked at his LED again, and found himself occupied by the temperature readings. The last three decimal digits rapidly changed, showing the unstable temperature on the planet.  
  
"Uh," Jesse spoke into his suit. "Activate standard life support." He sealed his visor and felt a warm breeze spread over him. The coldness potted outside, his suit acted sort of like a bird's feathers. "Change internal temperature. Fifteen degrees Celsius." The temperature inside the suit was quickly changed to fifteen degrees, allowing Jesse to warm up. He felt a smack on the back of his suit, so he turned around and saw a fellow marine talking to him. "Turn on sound receptors." The suit prepared to stop filtering sound, and within a second Jesse could hear again.   
  
"Yeah?" Jesse asked.  
  
"Sir," the marine hollered, "the captain is on his way."  
  
"Alright. Prepare to engage. Check your weapons and look sharp!"  
  
"Understood."  
  
The marine ran quickly to his set position in the lines of soldiers. A lone dropship came into view and landed on site at the front, thrusters deactivated and underground rockets pumping at full power to cushion the landing. The ship hit the ground and within nearly an instant the large steel door came open, a metallic ramp sliding down into the fresh-made slush. Several more white troopers guarding another man in a teal suit of armor un-boarded and stopped at the end of the ramp and turned toward the army. The teal suited man was Captain Ian Rikter, a Canadian Directorate fleet choreographer and operations overseer. He turned on his voice magnifier, and, in a disgusted manner, yelled out.  
  
"What the hell is this?" Were the first words from his mouth. Jesse decreased his sound receptor's sensitivity.   
  
"This is called war, I don't know what you half-ass grunts think your doing, smokin' and jabberin', but I don't like it. You have five seconds to stomp out your damn bad habit, pick up your gun, and stand with full attention towards ME!" The Captain made sure the 'me' in his sentence was exaggerated. The marines dropped their cigarettes into the snow and pulled their guns out, placing them on their shoulders and giving their full attention to the Captain.  
  
"That's a little better. Now, this is it boys. We've reached point ALPHA, and our objective is to capture and occupy Braxis' capital city of Boralis. I have nearly half of my entire detachment out here, so none of you better screw it up. Were going to make the advance toward Boralis now. Take your weapons off of their safeties and get ready to move." Several clicks went through the mass, and when it stopped it signified the readiness of the men. "Serve the Directorate. Serve Humanity. All other priorities are secondary to victory. Advance!"  
  
The white army slowly walked forward in an organized fashion, leaving large tracks in the snow behind them. By the time the last line of men had treaded over an area, the ground beneath them was left muddy and wrecked. The siege tanks to the sides of the infantry rolled forward, the goliaths slowly accompanying them. His squad of roughly thirty surrounded Jesse; ready to give their lives for him in order to better serve the Directorate. Jesse proudly had the blue and white directorate flag printed on his armor and smiled when he thought of it. His friends, and home. Earth. He could see the high Boralis walls, manned by hundreds of defenders and tanks, with a small fleet of wraiths on standby, nothing but black dots on the horizon. Jesse heard a tank roll beside him moving at a faster pace than the rest. It's double-barreled cannon pointed directly ahead at the city. As the mass moved onward, a distinct outline of the city's defenders became clearly visible. They were divided into small groups of twelve or so, surrounded by full bunkers and protected by a river with only a single bridge.  
  
Rikter began to run slowly, and the men behind him copied, the trend spreading quickly to all sides of the attack. The goliaths began to speed walk, their massive legs moving them faster and faster at the pilot's whim. Arclite siege tanks pressed on, and the army began to run faster, quickly approaching it's full speed. Jesse began to run faster too, moving ahead of all of the men and nearly up to the Captain and his squad. Jesse now had a tank on either side of him, giving him that oh-so-important sense of security. A vulture hovered over the metallic and rusted bridge. "Uh oh…" Jesse thought. He knew that vultures meant spider mines, and spider mines meant trouble. "Mine field ahead!" he yelled to his squad in order to prepare them for what may be coming.  
  
Suddenly, and without warning, one of the siege tanks beside Jesse blew to pieces, the explosion nearly hitting and killing him. It had begun. He stopped in his tracks, backing up the line. Several tanks across the river realigned their cannons to face the oncoming mass.   
  
"Shit!" He yelled, the others completely astonished and caught off-guard. "Mine field ahead!" he warned again, and continued running.   
  
The mobile tanks fired their less-powerful twin-80mm cannons, producing the much-needed long-range return fire. The army reached an in close range, and rifles began to be fired. Jesse saw marines on both sides receive a volley of spikes to the suit and fall to the ground. The Terran siege tanks already set up in the heavy siege mode were handing the Directorate forces massive casualties.   
  
"Almost to the bridge. We have to make it. Just a little further." Jesse pointed his gun forward to the defenders' trenches and when he had a clear shot he began to fire, unleashing hell and destruction from his rifle. Several enemy marines fell, but Jesse couldn't be sure if they were from his own shot. He checked his gun. 87 rounds. The entire attack force reached the bridge, the front squad moving across. Abruptly, and before anything could be done, ten spider mines un-burrowed from the snow and blew the bridge to pieces, tearing the helpless Directorate soldiers limb from limb. The bridge was no longer there, and a panic arose.   
  
"God dammit!" Rikter yelled obscenities at the situation. The back lines, unaware of what had just happened, pushed the exposed front lines forward, pinning them between each other and the river. Many of them fell down the slope and into the river ahead, breaking through the ice and causing large splashes of freezing water to go everywhere.  
  
Rikter continued to yell obscenities. "Fire, fire! What the hell are you doing? Kill 'em!" The Directorate marines were caught with their pants down as they fell one by one, unable to do anything. Everything beside them fell, or exploded. Some dove to the ground and tried and crawl away. Suddenly a shot from a Dominion tank hit the ground right in front of one of Jesse's men. His right leg blew off, blood splattering to all sides. "MEDIC!" Jesse yelled, barely able to comprehend what was going on. The attack was too unorganized. The only way to win would be to retreat and regroup, but in the current situation, that seemed impossible. Finally, the Directorate siege tanks set up into the much more powerful 'siege mode', their massive 120mm shock cannons pointed upward. The thundering sound of the hot plasma being shot forward rang in Jesse's ears. Jesse shot again until his rifle began to fire blanks. He looked at the rifle, the side panel displaying 0 rounds. He pulled a second clip off of his suit, ripped out the old one, and snapped the new one into place. He closed the socket, and began to fire again. The bunkers ahead of him were being totally blown to pieces by the siege tanks, and their occupants were quickly being singed and killed. It appeared as though the Directorate militia was winning; however it too had suffered casualties. Masses of bodies littered the ground, blood seeping through the holes in the armor and staining the snow. A blast from Boralis' wall hit another tank close to Jesse, it's pieces combusting outward and knocking over men receiving impact. Goliaths firing their twin auto cannons, much more powerful and faster to shoot than the rifles of the marines added an extra punch to the horde.  
  
Jesse was being pushed ever closer to the river by his own men, and he had no way of stopping in the slippery, ice-like snow. He stuck his gun forward and aimed at a group of marines, using more than half of his rounds but hitting eight of them. The siege tanks on top of Boralis' walls were unreachable, and though Jesse tried to shoot at them, even if he could manage to hit them his rifle could do little to puncture their heavy armor. A fresh line of marines pushed forward, relieving the battered men at the front. Rikter was a few steps away from Jesse now, caught in the confusion but still managing to call fresh troops forward. Jesse saw a bunker; it's defenders all dead and the marines inside receiving all sorts of punishment from outside. A tank fired at it, blowing a hole in the top and sending the walls in all directions. The men inside quickly died from the intense plasma. The snow was beginning to melt, the water sliding down into the river. All of the thin ice covering it had melted and it appeared as though Boralis was experiencing it's first spring season. Jesse checked his LED. The temperature was now reading a blistering 62 degrees Celsius, and the reading shot up to 342 degrees following a bombardment from several tanks. Within in ten seconds the temperature dropped to 70 degrees. Jesse's suit was stuffy and he wanted a breath of fresh air, but he knew that if he tried to breath the superheated air outside of his combat suit his lungs would hurriedly melt, causing his death.  
  
A soldier ran up to the Captain. "Sir, we need to fall back! We're not hitting them hard enough!"  
  
"No, we're aren't, are we? Watch this!" Rikter replied as he called in the air support. A fleet of wraiths spread overtop of the infantry and artillery support into a vast, widely spaced group. Their battery lasers shot down at Boralis, the pilots tactically trying to take out helpless-to-air siege tanks and destroying ledges on the wall as to disable access at that area. Quickly responding, Boralis' flyers headed forward and engaged the fleet. The laser bombardment stopped, and the nearly identical wraiths turned to missile attacks. The air filled with trails of smoke, and the impact of a Directorate missile saw the obliteration of a Dominion wraith and it's pilot.  
  
The Directorate intercoms filled with static and flyer interactions. "This is Alpha 3. I've got incoming, can't shake 'em!"  
  
"Alpha 3, this is Alpha leader. I've got your back. Just sit tight."  
  
"Roger that, Alpha leader."  
  
Alpha 3 pulled to the side, and the missile followed. The pack of wraith fighters had completely lost organization, as had the Dominion fleet. The sky was completely engulfed by the titanium destroyers, and to the infantry below the sun was constantly being blocked for a split second as the wraiths passed in front. The machine gun fire from below lit the walls of Boralis on the half-dark planet, the majority of tanks upon the top catwalks destroyed by the air support, and their crews' dead or mangled. This gave the Directorate ground forces a chance to regroup and send auxiliary forces forward.  
  
Jesse yelled into his comm. "Squad C, ready to take the front!"  
  
"OK, commander." Replied one of the marines.  
  
"Ten seconds, and counting."  
  
Jesse felt a wave of adrenaline climb up him. "This is it, your real test." He thought to himself. Jesse and his men had been behind the front line the whole time, and had used the protection of those unfortunate enough to be placed upfront. Not only would he have to worry about returning fire now, but Jesse would also need to make sure that he didn't get a bullet in him. He looked to his behind, the lines of marines not but two feet away. Now he would have to see if his men were truly loyal to him. He would have to rely on their protection and courage to make it through, and all of their years of training that stood right on the tips of their 're-socialized' brains.   
  
"Neural Re-socialization…" he thought. Most of his men were former criminals or thieves that had undergone the terrible process of having their minds completely rebuilt to affirm 100 percent loyalty to their commanders. It was time to see if Earth's greatest scientists and surgeons had properly done what looked so complicated in the textbooks. The flawless experiments suggested the operation was and would remain completely flawless until the day of the patient's death. Unfortunately the sheer science of it was so new, no patient that had ever survived the operation had yet met natural death. Now Jesse was smack-dab on the testing ground. If the process failed, he would likely die. And if it succeeded, he might die anyway.  
  
"Eight."  
  
The air battle above grew in fierceness as the ships began to thin out, spreading over a wider surface. The crackling of launched missiles protruded the sound receptors of those few ground troops that remained with open filters. The majority of them had shut them off to override the loud bursts from the countless guns on all sides.  
  
"Seven."  
  
Flaming wreckage came hurdling down toward the Dominion outer defense perimeter. A damaged wraith smashed against the side of one of the many bunkers surrounding Boralis. A huge explosion melted the nearby bunkers, their occupants running out the side screaming, flames pursuing them.  
  
"Eagle 9, watch yourself. You've just picked up two on your-" The transmission ended and the comm. filled with an unusually long static.  
  
"Breaking up there Eagle 2, please repeat." Eagle 9 demanded. "Eagle 2, repeat… Repeat dammit!" Eagle 9's vessel was hit at the side, the cockpit ripping nearly in half and the pilot ejecting toward the bedlam below.  
  
"Three." Jesse continued the countdown.  
  
The wraith smashed into the main wall on Boralis' South end, knocking the thing over completely as it took down an entire line of tanks and several marines.  
  
"One…this is our opening!"  
  
The enormous titanium wall hit the ground. The bang that came after alerted everyone to what had just happened. The temperature outside Jesse's suit was so hot that all of the snow within one hundred feet of the perimeter of the tanks was melted. The armies stood in knee-high floods of water as they haplessly looked forward, praying for a good hit from the tanks to open up a hole that would allow them to charge and end the battle. A light bombardment of snow came down from the sky. Of course, by the time a flake was anywhere near the bloodbath it was a complete rain droplet. Jesse's visor became slightly smeared as the drops hit it.  
  
"Now!" He screamed into the comm. as he charged forward. His men followed him up to the now-melted river. Jesse pulled the trigger on his gun, the capacitator doing most of the ammo-management. The blaze on his gun's nozzle lit up and flickered as it fired those custom UED bullets. He aimed at a single marine who was running straight away, and hit him in the leg causing him to fall forward into the water. A large splash followed.  
  
"Commander, I've spotted an opening at 57. We'll need a good hit from a tank to take it though." One of his men claimed.  
  
"Alright. Arclite 14, do you copy?" He replied.  
  
"Yes Squad C, we copy!" The tank's driver responded.  
  
"We've got an opening at 57. We need you to hit it!"  
  
"No can do, squad C. We're under heavy fire and have been forced out of position."  
  
"Dammit, get back into position!"  
  
Jesse didn't get a reply. His men had taken all of his sides and were sending a heavy volley forward. Jesse pulled his trigger harder, almost as if it would kill faster. A scream went over C squad's comm., followed by a gurgled "I'm hit!" Jesse looked to his immediate left and noticed a fallen marine. His suit had been punctured and an unusually large flow of blood turned the murky water under him red. "Good God. That could have been me,"  
  
Without a pause, Jesse shouted and looked backward. "Medic to C!" Without even having to ask for help, a team of two medics was dispatched into the line. Their suits, similar to those of the marines, completely took away their feminine features as they dove into the lake of water. The first girl pulled Jesse's comrade backward, and the second pulled out a stimulant and injected it into the wound.  
  
"There, that should stop the bleeding. I'm going to seal up the suit now, but we have to get him back to base. He needs surgery, and the armor has to be drained of water." The first medic ordered.  
  
"Alright then, move him back." The medic brought out a pistol-like gun and stuck it around the puncture. She pulled the trigger, and the gun patched the hole to hold the water out. Jesse went back to concentrating on the fight. Another scream went over the comm., and Jesse saw one of the men to his right go flying backwards, triggering a splash of water. A blast from an enemy landed directly behind Jesse, who jumped forward into the water as an involuntary reflex. Two more blasts, this time hitting a target. Three more down, and three more screams.  
  
Jesse lifted his gun out of the water upon getting a clear shot, and took at least two men down. He pulled the trigger again, but was out of ammunition and would need to stand up to reload. He placed his right hand in front of him, and his left foot onto the ground. Using his leg-power, he pushed himself back to a full upright position. He reached to his side to pull out a new clip, but then fell backward from a powerful impact. The bullets had hit him and he instinctively summoned for a medic. A single man came forward and pulled Jesse up.  
  
"Where are you hit, boy?" Demanded the medic.  
  
"I- I don't know…" Jesse answered, surprised at the fact that he couldn't feel any pain. "I can't feel the wound."  
  
The medic looked at the front of his suit. There was no point of entry for a bullet, however there was a large black spot directly above the heart area. He ran his hand over it, and the suit seemed to hold.  
  
"You're fine. The bullets didn't go through."  
  
Jesse looked the man in the face and, very relieved, let out a long, tired sigh. "Thanks," he said as he leaned his head back into the lake, the muddy, blood-filled water completely engulfing his visor. Then he thought. "Thanks a lot, old man."  
  
The wraith fighter-planes continued to battle for air-supremacy, one by one knocking each other out of the sky and onto the battlements. The Dominion fighters appeared to outmatch the Directorate force, however the Directorate ships were much sturdier, faster and, simply put, better.  
  
"Cobra Leader, this is Cobra 1. I've picked up a large store of arclite-class siege tanks preparing to exit the city. They appear to be targeting the infantry."  
  
"Cobra 1, this is Cobra Leader. Your scan is acknowledged. Cobras 1 through 5, come with me."  
  
"Affirmative, Cobra Leader."  
  
Six wraiths left the havoc above and headed downward at a 45-degree angle. Upon reaching the walls of the city they flew over and headed down to get as low to the ground as possible. The tanks were lined up, ten abreast and a hundred deep. The wraiths split into three groups of two, and unleashed a bombardment onto the unsuspecting tanks. The bright lasers hit the tank turrets and blew them to fragments, the leftovers were scorched and wrecked and acted as a 'dead' piece of the machine.  
  
"Alright Cobra Leader, check this!" The single wraith got as low as five meters from the tanks as the pilot pulled the trigger on his joystick, offering a gift of destruction to nearly ten of the vehicles. "Yeeeeeehaw!" It flew back to the skies and circled around the tanks several times.  
  
"Nice work, Cobra 2."  
  
"Tanks a lot- oh shit!" Cobra 2 leaked uncontrollably. "Uh, Cobra Leader, we've got trouble! My radar indicates a number of missile turrets going online, estimate ten seconds until full activation."  
  
Cobra Leader took it calmly. "Warn the fleet, we've got to get the hell away form here."  
  
"Copy that, Cobra Leader." The wraith squadron tore away from the city to rejoin the primary fleet. "Earth Directorate fleet 109, this is Cobra 2. I've picked up a number of active missile turrets. If we don't get the hell out of here, we're fried. Part ranks, part ranks! Now!"  
  
Intense cries went over the comm. "You heard him Alpha, lets get out of here!"  
  
"Eagle squadron lets roll!"  
  
"Delta squadron, this is Delta Leader. Lets move it back to HQ."  
  
The fleet went into shambles, wraiths turning and fleeing at every point tangible. Jesse looked into the sky from his rather pathetic position on the battlements. "What the hell?" He thought upon seeing the fleet disband and turn backwards. Jesse followed the ships with his eyes, keeping a keen sixth sense focused on the engagement. A halo of missiles came from just inside the city's perimeter, and Jesse watched in awe as they managed to outrun some of the pilots.  
  
"Alpha 1, take command, I'm hit!"  
  
"I want th—" Static. Intense screams went over the fleet comm., the surviving pilots pressing on in an attempt to make it away from the city. Another Halo, several more losses.   
  
Rikter, in his teal combat suit, looked at the trails of smoke following the downed pilots. He heard as they crashed into the ground, the low rumbling affecting everyone mentally. The Dominion wraiths turned back to the city, and launched a barrage at the infantry squads. The helpless men turned their guns upward and fired at the ships, mostly hitting nothing. A lucky few hit their mark, and the damaged scrap of metal headed straight for the ground, barely missing several soldiers.  
  
"God damn it, Rikter!" The second in command approached the captain. "We've got to get the hell out of here before we're all chopped liver!"   
  
Rikter hesitated, looking up at the skies once more and then back at the battlefield. Then he looked at his feet, which were engulfed in the blood of others. A tiny ball of sweat came out of a pore in his head, and slid down his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving up in his throat, staying for a split second, and then coming back down to its natural position in his throat. Rikter's second in command looked at him again, with a sense of urgency in his eyes.   
  
"Come on, we can try this again tonight!"   
  
Rikter looked back at his commander, and then pressed on his gun trigger, sending a volley of ammunition at a bunker. The bullets hit their mark inside a bunker, killing one man. Rikter then looked to his sides, only to see several dead men, tired medics, and wrecked tanks. A few burning goliaths, abandoned or broken were still standing. Others had fallen to pieces and hit the ground. He looked behind him; some of the poor soldiers simply watched their fellows die. He watched them cringe and break ranks, some of them heading backwards in a desperate attempt for survival.  
  
The lines of men were being undone as quickly as they could be brought forward. Hundreds of bodies littered the lake, and it was possible to stand atop them and not even wet one's feet. Rikter looked behind again. The sparse group of men was completely disorganized, and not a single platoon of infantrymen remained in formation. Rikter looked at his gun, and then forward. More troops exited the city in a straight line, and formed up in front of their battlements. He hesitated, and bit his lower lip.  
  
"This is Captain Ian Rikter of the United Earth Directorate. All units fall back. Repeat, all units fall back immediately!" Rikter threw down his gun and ran back through the retreating soldiers. His heavy armor made large splashes with each step, cleansing the blood of those beside him, and cleaning their combat suits to their natural white.  
  
Jesse kept his gun tight to his chest and ran for his life. He hopped over dead bodies and jumped over tree trunks and unrecognizable items of war – Twisted and wrecked tanks, smashed goliaths, and human remains that were battered beyond recognition. The slower-moving tanks tried to keep up with the running infantry, and the few remaining goliath pilots turned their walkers up to full speed for the retreat.   
  
Jesse's armor remained latched and everything was, strangely, working perfectly. He was very hot though. He had been sweating but hadn't had the time to turn down the heat. "Computer. Change internal temperature. Ten degrees Celsius." He spoke, as a soft breeze came over his face. He felt a radical cool down of temperature, and he felt a lot better as he forgot about the heat. He heart was beating so hard it could have ripped right through his chest. The battle was over, and the UED had been defeated at Boralis (the only defeat they would see on the planet). Time to pick the branches from his boots, and then to supper. Tonight, Jesse would return to the battlefield to sew the seeds of war once more.  
  
  
  
  
Rikter sat in his dinner chair inside the mobile command center Fortune 3. His hands were closed, fingers interlocked as he sat waiting for his dinner. "Five minutes, the waiter said. Hmph, he could have said fifteen, I don't care how long it takes him. But the least he could have done was tell me the truth. Or maybe say 'at least five minutes, captain.' Dammit. Nothing… Nothing is working today. What the hell is my problem? What did I do? Fuck. I can't even get my dinner." He thought to himself as he sat silent, staring at the metallic walls of the command center. He had two forks, a knife and a spoon in front of him and slightly to the right. They were neatly arranged on top of a blue napkin, directly in front of a clear drinking glass full of filtered water. He picked up the glass and put it to his lips, taking a long swig before setting it down again. "Hmmm, the minerals on this planet aren't only good for building stuff." His water had been filtered clean of bacteria and chlorine by the minerals native to Braxis. Workers had mined and modified some minerals for directly that purpose, while others did the dirty work of patching up combat suits and repairing tanks and goliaths.  
  
Rikter had ordered a casual dish that could fill him up. An entire pork-loin stuffed with a basil and tomato sausage, with a light hot sauce poured on top. A tossed Caesar salad complete with croutons and grated cheese lightly sprinkled with pepper would fill more space on the plate. On the side, a large baked potato filled with sour cream, topped with salt, pepper and, strangely enough, soy sauce. A small buttered whole-wheat bun would also go into his stomach.  
  
The room surrounding him was small. It was a round little thing, with a round table surrounded by chairs in the center. The chairs were all empty. Rikter would eat alone, tonight. The room was cold, damp, and uncomfortable. The metal walls had pipes going upwards to the roof, and to some other unknown place after that. Also on the wall was a Comsat center. It was smaller and less useful than the primary system in the command room. Four flat-panel monitors, currently inactive, were placed in a row along a flatter area, and were covered by a single anti-glare shield that only slightly reduced visibility on the monitors, but greatly improved the interlacing.  
  
Rikter's chair was a hard plastic cut shaped to the average person's back. There were six others surrounding the circular table in the very enter. All of the places for eating were set. His commanders and assistants hadn't come to dinner. Obviously, they were too stressed to eat anything. They would be sitting in their rooms on their hard, makeshift mattresses, elbows on their knees and head held firmly in their palms. They would be thinking about the battle, and thinking about the folly that the Directorate onslaught had been so far. First a loss to the Protoss on the platform around Braxis' moon, and then the utter failure at Boralis. Much of the planet had fallen under Directorate control, however Boralis was still a substantial target that was left untaken. Unconquered. SCVs were likely mending to the city's wounds, welding new walls where others had fallen. Siege tanks would be retaking the walls; bunkers would be reinforced and repaired. The defenders would have time to rest, and their fleet would be taken care of. Everything they needed was right there. Rikter could not mend what had been done to his platoons. The ships that had been put out of service; the tanks that had been blown to pieces – nothing could be fixed. His army was stationed at a ragged outpost sixteen miles from Boralis. Sixteen miles separated by a field of sparse spruce trees and mile-high snow drifts. An endless field full of the footprints of Earthlings. Imagine, the great army of Humans, unwanted and shunned by their own colonies. The thought of it was highly foreign to any Earthling.  
  
The metal door, the lone entrance to the dinner room, slid upward revealing the body of a short and thin waiter, a plate of food in one hand, and white cloth in the other. The waiter was completely bald, and had a bushy black mustache. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and he had one solid eyebrow (commonly known as a uni-brow) to protect them. The man, dressed in a black suit with white undershirt, stepped in, and walked around the table to Rikter's side.  
  
"Captain, your dinner. Pork-loin steak with a baked potato and salad." The small man said, the same height as Rikter even though he was standing upright.  
  
"Alright, looks good." Rikter replied with eyes the size of grapefruits. Obviously he was starving; his appetite had not diminished from the fighting at all. In fact, he was even hungrier.  
  
"Shall I bring you anything else, sir?" The waiter placed the platter down in front of Rikter, whose mouth was watering like a water faucet.  
  
"Uh, yeah. How about, uh, a refill on that water please."  
  
"Of course," The waiter picked up the glass and placed it on the plastic holder the food had come on. "Will you be needing anything more?"  
  
"No, that should be all."  
  
"Very well. I will be back with more water momentarily." The waiter turned and walked to the door.  
  
"Oh," Rikter said sticking his hand in front of him as if it would halt the waiter. "No ice this time, ok?"  
  
The waiter turned and looked at Rikter with a forced smile. "No ice." He said softly, and continued out the door. Rikter looked at his plate and upon inspection of his food he licked his lips and picked up a fork and knife. He first dug into his pork loin steak, slicing the corner off and shoving it into his mouth. The savory barbeque sauce coated the inside of his cheeks, the spices awing and satisfying his tongue. His plate was arranged nicely, with salad at twelve o'clock, potato at nine, steak at six, and at three o'clock was his small, buttered whole-wheat bun.  
  
"Mmm…" Rikter mumbled as the juices soothed his mouth. The sausage inside the pork sent multiple sensations to his brain, and he loved every bit of it. This was definitely better than the blood that the wounded soldiers tasted at Boralis. This was what taste was all about. He jabbed his fork into the baked potato, through the top sprinkle of pepper and salt, through the thin layer of soy sauce, the thick layer of sour cream and finally into the vegetable's heart itself. Digging out a huge piece, he brought it to his lips, blew on it to cool it slightly, and laid it on his tongue as the flavor infested him. He started eating faster, shoving a variety of food into his mouth and at the same time saying "thank you" to himself over and over again.  
  
He dug into his salad and caught two green lettuce leaves on his fork. Then he lightly and carefully picked up two croutons as not to break them, and brought his fork up to his face. His struggled to fit it all in, but used his fork to pack it in well. The cheese was the first to hit his taste buds, and then the dressing, and finally the lettuce and croutons. "This is delicious!" He thought to himself as he tried not to make a mess. After chewing, he dove in for more. 


	7. Chapter Four: Scars and Scrapes

CHAPTER FOUR  
SCARS AND SCRAPES  
  
  
THERE THEY GATHERED, hundreds upon hundreds of starving military officers, cadets, and privates, sticking bowls forward like dogs, waiting for a spoonful of whatever it was the chefs had cooked for them. Lines and lines – endless lines – of men and women that hadn't seen food all day littered the solemn camp. The constant rumbling of the stomachs began to be more of an ambient and normal sound, rather than the rare event that they would have felt back home on Earth after a hard day of refueling jet-liners and painting fences. Logs, boxes, and anything else that could be used as a seat lay scattered over the base. These would serve as the dinner tables for the masses of grunts, low-ranked officers, and other 'ruffians', as command had obviously deemed them. The sunset cast an ominous glow over the camp, the snow turning slightly red and orange as the shadows proceeded slowly, men and women receiving the evening's grub and then heading for spot to sit and eat.  
  
Jesse stood eight spots away from receiving his food, if you could call it that. A viscous pile of grayish slop the size of a loose fist was hardly worthy of the title 'food'. Although, after what Jesse had been through today, anything was suitable to fill his stomach. Much of his squadron had been slaughtered. Some of his friends were dead, others wounded or still slowly dying. He had witnessed a great bloodbath, and it could have been avoided. The frontal assault was definitely not the wisest choice in this situation, but what control of the circumstances Jesse had was irrelevant. His job was to hear and obey. The Admiral orders the captains, the captain orders the commanders, the commanders order the officers, and the officers order him. That was how it worked, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it, although inside of him he wished things could be a little different. Perhaps if he could have some say in a situation. What was the point of having the rank of Squadron Commander if it didn't give him any privileges?  
  
Jesse was caught up in his thoughts, and had forgotten to move forward with the rest of the line. He had only just realized this when he received a shove from behind.  
  
"Hey buddy, move it!" A tall man with a completely shaven head and an earring on each ear yelled to him. "Some people are hungry, you know!"  
  
Jesse turned around and found himself staring at the tall man's chest plate. He looked up to see a mean looking troublemaker. His face was overrun with whiskers and his grin revealed that he was missing two teeth teeth. He had a gold chain around his neck that glimmered in the faint sunset. The guy was so large that he looked like he could pick up the corner of a house and then set it down again.  
  
"Well? You gonna move or do I have to kick your ass?" The man said as he scrunched his right hand into a solid fist.  
  
"Uh, yeah," Jesse stumbled. "I'll move. Sorry." Jesse slowly turned around and took several steps forward, as he noticed that there were only three more people to his front. "Jerk…" Jesse mumbled, looking downward at the stomped snow near his feet.  
  
"You say somethin'?" The man behind him asked, leaking the words out of his mouth as if he were a snake.  
  
"Nope." Jesse spryly replied, pretending as if he was only fairly sure that the man was talking to him. "Oh, great. You've done it again, Jesse. Nice going." He thought.  
  
"Really?" The man almost spat in Jesse's face.  
  
In an attempt to look tough, he turned around and slanted his head 90 degrees as he bit his bottom lip. "Really."  
  
"That's interesting. Cause I could have sworn I heard you call me a jerk. N'if I aint mistakin', you're lying to me too. I hate lies. I don't tolerate liars. Lies are for little worms that cant sum up to what they've done, so they try to take the easy way out. Maybe you could use a lesson in my school, huh pal? Class convenes now."  
  
Jesse was looking at his neck and trying not to tilt his head backwards in order to make the man think he was stronger than he looked. By now, several others had gathered around them anticipating a fight. "You must be mistaken. I didn't say anything, sorry."  
  
"You apologize too much."  
  
"Leave me alone, gigantor."  
  
"That sounded like an order, little man."  
  
"It was. My name is Jesse Markham, Squadron Commander of the United Earth Directorate. Back off, grunt."  
  
"Trying to outrank me, huh? I don't buy this shit. Tell ya what, prove to me that you're a Squadron Commander and I'll drop it."  
  
Jesse pointed to his chest plate, his finger an inch away from the sticker of a Squadron Commander, glued on long ago. He proudly had accepted the rank after being promoted at age nineteen, when his own Squadron Commander retired and elected someone to carry his promise on. Mercy, Fairness, and equality. That was what Commander Adrian Smith said to him before he died of old age five years ago. Beside the symbol were several other badges that he had earned throughout his enlistment in the Earth militant forces. One of which was a small rectangle on his right arm. Easily recognizable, the symbol of a free willed soldier was marked on his suit. That was the sign of true power on the Directorate military. According to rule 103a-57.3 in the Directorate military handbook, all soldiers un-drafted and in the army by free choice were to be treated as such, and could override the orders of any drafted or forced-into-service soldier within five rank's above one's own. Failure to obey the rule by a higher-ranking officer forced into the army would result in that officer being court marshaled and tried in a fair legal system in which one Admiral, two Lieutenants, two Captains, two Majors, and four Magistrates are present as a jury. In the even that not all positions can be filled in a reasonable amount of time, each empty position will be occupied by two others in the rank directly below that of the absent officer. In the event that a pardon is granted, the officer would be suspended from duty for 15-Days, and would be placed under careful watch for 30-Days. The rule was similar to the one disallowing someone of lower rank to disobey a valid order of an officer above his or her rank. The Directorate rules were strict, but nonetheless they ensured an efficient and productive procedure of events during times of war.  
  
The big brute leaned over and stared at Jesse's badge. Big clear letters stated: 'United Earth Directorate Marine Corps – Squadron Commander'. Jesse, somewhat relieved that the situation would end here, took a deep breath and let it all out in a quick gust.  
  
"I don't see anything. You're lying to me again." The man insisted as he stood back up to his full height. "Oh come on you dumbass, it's right there in bold letters. Now you're just picking on me. Shit, I wish I had my gun on me." Jesse, whose gun was back in barracks number 5b, said under his breath.. The man shoved Jesse in the shoulder, hurling him back a foot and nearly knocking him off his feet.  
  
"Okay, liar. Now your going to answer to me." The man raised his fist into the air, and Jesse braced for impact. Just as he thought his nose was about to be shoved into his head, a voice stopped any such incident.  
  
"Gentlemen, is there a problem?" A colonel approached the two through the mass of people surrounding them. He was a middle-aged male with a bushy mustache and awful breath.  
  
The big man lowered his fist and put his arm around Jesse's neck. "No sir, we're pals. We were just fooling around."  
  
"I see. Well, then I suggest you save it for later and get this line going again. These people are waiting for their food."  
  
"Yes sir." Jesse humbly responded, as he turned toward the serving counter again, the brute copying.  
  
"As for the rest of you," The colonel added, "get back into line. There's nothing to see here." The disappointed observers slowly broke and reformed the single-file masses. Jesse was next in line for his supper. All he had to say was that it had better be worth it. "Twenty-five minutes waiting around and doing nothing, a near bombardment by a colonel, and almost getting the crap beat out of me by a guy twice my size is deserving of a Chinese buffet, not whatever the hell HQ decided to barf up," he thought. Jesse looked over at the sun, which had nearly completely gone out of sight, save a few inches that just poked above the edge of sight. It would be just another minute or two until darkness cast itself over the camp.  
  
"Next!" The man in front of Jesse turned to his right and headed for a seat, leaving Jesse at the front of the line staring at the chef. He was of average height, had a medium build, and looked about thirty-five years old. He was clean-shaven, regular looking, and the tall white hat he was wearing hid his hair color. However his eyebrows were light brown, suggesting that was the most likely color of his hair. The chef was wearing a white coat, similar to a butcher's, which was stained different colors several times. It made Jesse wonder what that food was really made out of.  
  
Jesse took a step forward and offered the chef his plate by sticking it in front of him, and made split-second eye contact. The chef dug a large metal ladle into an enormous pot and scooped out some of the lumpy, grayish substance, plopping a single mound into the bowl. The stuff wiggled like Jell-O, and didn't break form. The chef stuck a spoon in the top of it and was getting ready to send him off when he saw that Jesse was seriously considering starving himself to death.  
  
"A hardened form of protein and nutrients along with a heavy dose of calories, about 750, vegetable extracts, and some carbohydrate supplements. Basically, don't get shot and it'll keep ya alive and healthy." The chef explained.  
  
Jesse forced a weak smile, gave a light nod, and pulled the bowl toward him as he turned to the right and walked away in disgust.   
  
"Next!"  
  
He walked slowly, almost not at all, to his dinner place. His feet made a squeaking sound as they crushed the snow beneath them. Some of the snow crusted to his boots and glimmered at the last specks of sunlight. After a good fifteen seconds of walking he got to a small area with some men sitting at it. There were five wooden logs on their side surrounding a fire, one of them occupied and the rest empty. One man was on his knees and just finishing igniting the flame as Jesse sat down on one of the empty logs. He looked up at the pine trees surrounding the entire right side of his current arrangement, a single missile turret built in the shelter of the miniature forest was revolving on the lookout for undesignated aircrafts. The image quickly disappeared as Jesse breathed, his breath rising upward in a thin, gray smog and distorting the view. He picked his spoon out of the dog food-like lump and played with the stuff a bit, mashing it around and stabbing his spoon into it.  
  
"If you close your eyes it kind of tastes like oatmeal." The man next to Jesse said. Jesse recognized him as Miguel Fernandez, a good friend of his. Miguel was twenty-eight years old, and had dark olive skin. His Hispanic features took over his body, which was topped by a clean-shaven face and short black hair. He had one son back on Earth, Victor, and at age six was forced to say goodbye, perhaps having to face his father's death and the fact that he may never see him again.  
  
"Reassuring. What do they call this stuff?" Jesse asked  
  
"Don't know. Most people are calling it goop, but I call it shit." He had a non-existent accent, speaking perfect English, perfect Spanish, and a little Portuguese.  
  
Jesse chuckled. "That bad huh?"  
  
The brute approached the three and looked down at Jesse. Oh great… Jesse thought as he looked up at the massive body-builder.  
  
"Mind if I sit?" He asked in that same, deep voice he had threatened Jesse with earlier. Jesse didn't want to sit near him, but did he really have a choice? If he told him no, would he get his lights punched out? Jesse looked to his side at Miguel, who promptly raised his eyebrows, signifying that they didn't have a choice.  
  
"Go ahead." Miguel stated, turning his hand to the side and sticking his arm out showing the brute where to sit.  
  
"Thanks." He said as he sat down, bowl of the same stuff that Jesse had in his hand. As soon as he got comfortable he grabbed the metal spoon out from the top of the goop, scooped up a large quantity of the stuff, and shoved it in his mouth, obviously expecting the worst. He made a few smacking sounds and then opened his eyes as he shrugged his left shoulder in approval.  
  
"Well, gigantor?" Jesse asked him, still wondering if he should taste the food. The man put his spoon back into his bowl, wiped his mouth with the top of his hand, and looked up at Jesse, still slightly hunched over and looking angry. He finished chewing, and then opened his mouth.  
  
"Marlon." He said in a kind tone.  
  
Jesse wasn't sure what he meant. "Huh?"  
  
"My name. It's Marlon. Marlon Derk."  
  
"Oh… Marlon. I didn't know they named guys like you, being so big and all."  
  
Marlon chuckled. "You know, you're not so bad. A few days with me, sir, and I'll teach you how to live the right way."  
  
"Private, I order you to tell me what this food tastes like and if I should eat it!" Jesse played around with the man a little bit.  
  
"Go ahead and try it. Kinda tastes like… soup concentrate."  
  
"If you close your eyes, it kind of tastes like oatmeal." Miguel repeated.  
  
The other man at the fire had his face into the food, and didn't even look up. Either he was really hungry, or the stuff wasn't so bad. Jesse formed an O shape with his lips, took a deep breath, and then lifted a bunch of the stuff with his spoon into his mouth. He closed his lips, dragged out the spoon and moved the goop around with his tongue. It was half-cold. Obviously it started hot, but with the below zero weather it quickly changed temperature. The softness of it allowed him to chew it without using his teeth (he pushed it against the top of his mouth with his tongue), and it left an odd coating in his mouth that his saliva just couldn't wash away. The lumps quickly turned runny, and the food slightly changed texture similar to the effect of cotton candy. The aftertaste was horrible, something like a rotten apple covered in worms, but it quickly went away.  
  
"Yuck." Jesse said making a face.  
  
"Ah, it's not great," Said the man next to Miguel, "but it does what it's supposed to do."  
  
"It had better."  
  
The man stuck his hand forward, which Jesse quickly grabbed. He pumped twice, and released.  
  
"I'm Paul Blivy. Who might you be?" Paul was a fairly large guy, between Jesse and Marlon's size, who looked about 200 pounds. He had greenish eyes (almost silvery), white skin, and spiked hair about a half-inch long.  
  
"I'm Jesse Markham, Directorate Squadron Commander. Nice to meet you, Paul."  
  
"You know, they say friendships between Commanders and grunts never work out. In fact, they say that it's probably a bad idea, since Commanders often have to order the grunts to do something they don't want, it can cause problems."  
  
"Yeah, well, too late for that now. You should have told me that before I knew your name." Jesse sneered out at the Paul.  
  
He went back to eating the goop. As long as he kept shoving it in his mouth, he wouldn't get any of that awful aftertaste until he was finished the bowl. Nobody said very much, now and then Marlon told a dirty joke and everyone laughed, but for the most part everyone was silent during dinner. In fact, the majority of the camp was silent. The line-ups for goop were still and silent, and the campfire groups didn't say much. Jesse looked into the fire in the center of his group. To his right was Miguel, and then to his left was Paul. There was an empty log beside Paul, and then was Marlon. After that there was a space a few feet wide, and the circle went back to Jesse. The fire was captivating, it's orange glow reflecting off of Jesse's shiny white boots and heating the cold air around him. The sky was now full of stars with the sun's departure, and so the twinkling in the sky added that all-important sense of hope to Jesse's attitude. A mere two hours remained until he would find himself back on the battlefield, his men and himself once again trying to beat through Boralis' defenders and capture the city. He looked over his friends, two of them had only been his friends for minutes, and he saw the urgency in their eyes, and the sense of rejection in this place. Why were they here? Where they here to save these people from the Zerg? Why were they saving these people form the Zerg? There was much unknown about the workings in the universe, however Jesse just could not understand why the Zerg had come to wreak havoc on this once beautiful habitat.  
  
"You know," Marlon started, still chewing his food. "they say that the Zerg have expanded their strains. Word of mouth says that they have new warrior breeds, even more vicious and ruthless than before."  
  
"Really?" Miguel asked with interest.  
  
"Yep."  
  
Paul jumped into the conversation. "I hear that they're mutations."  
  
"Mutations?" Jesse asked  
  
"Yeah, they aren't hatched from an egg like all the rest of the Zerg, but the already-born things actually mutate into something stronger."  
  
"Where'd you hear this?" Miguel requested an answer in a state of disbelief.  
  
"I heard the captain talking about it with Admiral DuGalle. I passed his room inside the command center as I was delivering parts to one of the mechanics. Nobody has seen one of these things yet, but they are supposed to be nearly invincible. Tear down entire legions of men in seconds, and there isn't a damn thing that can be done about it."  
  
"Incredible. Who have they attacked so far?"  
  
"Well, the Dominion has been trying to reclaim parts of their airspace. They came across several Hives on Korhal, and halfway through one of the battles Mengsk's entire color guard fell back in disarray with casualties in excess of seventy percent."  
  
"Holy shit. We're supposed to fight these things?"  
  
"Dunno. The Protoss have some new stuff in their arsenal too, though."  
  
"Ah yeah," Miguel included. "I saw something odd when we fought them in space a few days back. HQ called them corsairs, and they took our wraiths down like clockwork. Some sort of energy disruption field malfunctions the mechanics of our planes. Pilots even reported tissue damage from the things. What's worse is they are so damn small and quick-moving that they're almost impossible to hit… Probably cheap as Hell to manufacture, too. The only good thing about them is they don't seem to be able to attack ground units because of a horizontally latched generator on their front end. That might be the only way to take 'em down."  
  
Jesse listened with intent as Marlon unraveled his knowledge, too. "Those Protoss are so powerful. It's too bad that we can't have them on our side against the Zerg. I was in a bunker with three other guys, and we unleashed a clip of bullets each at those Zealots. They just kept coming. We tried to dive out the window as they ripped the back door off, totally immune to the electrical barbwire it was covered in. I think I might have been the only one that got out alive, but I didn't stick around to find out. I got my ass on the nearest Dropship and told that pilot that if he didn't take off that I was gonna kick his ass."  
  
"You commandeered an entire dropship? What the Hell is your problem, anyway?"  
  
"Oh I wasn't the only one on board. The co-pilot and some crew men were fucking around inside, and some other guys got on before the door shut."  
  
Jesse smacked his forehead with his hand and shook his head in disbelief, as he thought to himself. "If you do something like that, don't you get court marshaled? They obviously don't know about it yet. If I don't tell the authorities, they'll bust me, too. If they find out that is... Then again, if I do tell, I'll get beaten up for sure. Oh man."  
  
  
  
  
About half an hour later, Rikter was nearly finished his Dinner. For dessert he had ordered a thick slice of lemon marangue pie, complete with a glass of milk. He now had a full milk mustache above his upper lip, signifying that he liked the food. With only a single bite of pie left, he pondered whether or not he should eat it. After all, he was really full, and another bite might cause him to burst. The bottom buckle on his uniform pants was undone, and his stomach was bulging from his unbuttoned shirt. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff." He thought to himself, contently. He picked up his fork one last time and slid the teeth under the crusty shell, preparing himself. He took a deep breath, and forced the pie down his throat.   
  
Now, full as he had ever been, he wiped the mustache off of his face with the back of his hand and then wiped the crumbs off of himself with a napkin. He threw it into the middle of the plate, and gave his stomach a three hundred sixty degree rub. The waiter once again entered the dinner room, the metal door sliding upwards and revealing him. This time he had a tiny bowl in his hand, wrapped by a small cloth. He approached Rikter and smiled.  
  
"Was the dessert satisfying, sir?"  
  
"Very much. Delicious."  
  
"Thank you. I shall give your complements to the chef. Anything else for you tonight?"  
  
"Oh, no. I think if I ate another thing food would be coming up my throat."  
  
"Very well then, sir." The waiter placed the small bowl on the table and meticulously placed the napkin beside it. "For your hands, sir." He said as he took away Rikter's utensils, glass, and plate.  
  
"Thanks." Rikter sent the waiter away with a farewell and then put his palm over the steaming bowl, feeling the heat of it soothe his hand. There were two half-slices of lemon in the bowl, one of which Rikter picked out and squeezed into the water. The second he left in, as he dabbed his fingers in the hot water to clean off any grease that might still be residing on them. He rubbed his fingers together, and then he slid them out of the fist-sized bowl, flicking them to remove excess water and them wiping on the small cloth.  
  
"That was a good meal, maybe now I should try to get a bit of sleep before we go back to fight." he sighed to himself. He hadn't slept in a long time, and it was something that he could obviously use. He sniffed, returning some of the snot in his nose up into his nasal passages. A quick beep filled the room as he was about to get out of his chair. One of the monitors on the wall lit up, revealing the face of his primary adjutant. She was a young girl with a shaved head and black cap, the UED emblem sewed on the front. The adjutant spoke out, slightly embarrassed but trying to hide it.  
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt you without warning, captain. However we have recovered the results of the battle at Boralis."  
  
"Read them to me, please."  
  
"Very well. Directorate casualties are heavy, both on the ground and in the air. We have 1622 casualties in total. 193 deaths, and another 1429 have been wounded. Most are moderate wounds and patients are reported stable. 4% are in critical condition, and eight patients not expected to make it through the night. 14 damaged arclite siege tanks have been salvaged and appear recoverable, and another 92 have been destroyed utterly. Goliath walkers are mostly intact. 9 have been destroyed utterly, and 17 are recoverable and undergoing repairs. Your allowance of wraith fighter planes has expired, and the remaining vessels have been ordered to return to the fleet under the permission of Vice-Admiral Stukov. 180 vessels have been shot down, none salvageable. Pilot casualties are ridiculously heavy. 35% of those shot down were unable to escape before impact."  
  
"Son of a bitch! What's the report of Dominion casualties?"  
  
"Dominion casualties are inconclusive. Early conflicting reports convey 700 casualties, others as many as 2500. Goliath walkers and other armored ground units are estimated to be nearly fully intact. Nearly all front line bunkers, turrets and assorted defense nodes have been raised. Our agents report that due to a tactical air-to-ground strike nearly all arclite siege tanks have been destroyed. Our experts have deciphered some heavily encoded transmissions leaving Braxis, which appear to be requesting a new batch of tanks from Braxis' sister planet, Tikyl Prime. However reinforcements cannot arrive at Braxis for nine standard hours. If we are able to capture all of Braxis' major cities within this time, the fleet will be able to set up a blockade with which to intercept the convoy and commandeer all of it's belongings. As far as Boralis' physical status goes, we have been unable to gather any intelligence. We have no idea as to how many units are still defending the city, but it may be possible that they now outnumber us. We have been unable to collect anymore information on the status of the city due to its tight perimeter."  
  
"Thank you. Is there anything else?"  
  
"Actually Captain, there is. Seconds ago, I received a communiqué request from Dominion Sergeant Bill Therus, with basic identification requests and some questions pertaining to your assault on Boralis. Shall I patch you through?"  
  
"No. If the Dominion wants to know who we are, they can contact the Admiral. I'm not authorized to speak with any Dominion representatives for any reason other than terms of surrender. Disconnect the call. Is there anything else?"  
  
"No, Cap—Wait… I am receiving an incoming transmission from a non-hostile representative identifying himself as Lieutenant Samir Duran. The signal is being broadcasted, meaning that the origin is Terran, but not Directorate… or Dominion. Shall I patch you through?"  
  
"Not Directorate or…" Rikter said the rest of the sentence to himself under his breath. "What the Hell? Don't put me on in here." Rikter stood up and struggled to redo the buttons on his jacket as he scrambled towards the door. "Tell him that I'll be a minute, and patch it through at the main console. I'll take the call there. I want you to be present, and prepare to contact the fleet in case I need to get the Admiral on the line. I'll need to talk to him anyway." Rikter stumbled out the door and into the hallway as he fidgeted with his belt-buckle, trying to get himself presentable for a conference. The screen in the dinner room went black, with small white letters displayed in the center. 'Transmission ended. 2-19-42.18:22:54'. Seconds later, the monitor turned off, with the letters disappearing. The metal door slid downward, remaining closed but unlocked.  
  
  
  
  
Rikter hurried down the main hall of Fortune 3, past the marines guarding doors and directly to the main control room, in the very heart of the command center. Two marines stood tall at the door, both of them with open visors, and a gauss rifle resting on their shoulder, their right hand on the handle, and no finger on the trigger. It was standard Directorate procedure for soldiers on guard duty. Rikter stopped in front of them, turned towards the door, and they both saluted him with a swift hand motion as he greeted them.  
  
"Evening, gentlemen." Rikter didn't wait for a reply but got one anyway.  
  
"Gd'evnin', sir. What's yer business?" The marine on the right of the large metal door asked.  
  
"My business? My business is ordering you to get the Hell out of my way before I have to grab you by the ass and throw you into the wall! Can't you see that I'm in a hurry?"  
  
"I'll need identification. No exceptions."  
  
Rikter looked at the marine that was talking to as if he was going to kill him and eat him for a snack. "Captain Ian Rikter, dammit! Open the door!"  
  
"Capt- oh! Sorry sir. I didn't recognize you. Forgive me."  
  
The marine to the left of the door turned hard on his heel and punched a few buttons on a small keyboard. Each keystroke was accompanied by a high-pitched beep, and then several close together beeps adjunct to a retina scan and dental recording. The small camera above the rudimentary door finished it's work, and the monolithic piece of metal slid up, making a deafening screech followed by a 'bang' as it hit the top of it's container rails.  
  
Rikter stepped inside. Four separate flat panel monitors were clearly visible in the center of the room. Each was hanging by wire from the roof, and behind them were interconnecting messes of wires and cords. Nestled below the monitors was a great computer panel, manned by three technical workers. As Rikter walked further in, he saw four sparsely spread marines, and several other smaller computer panels each occupied by a single person. The marines saluted him, and then stood straight up trying to look sharp. Rikter nodded at them, and gave a salute of his own.  
  
"At ease," he calmly expressed to the soldiers.  
  
One of the men at the central computer turned slowly in his chair as he also saluted Rikter. "Greetings, Captain. What can I do for you?" He said with a real enough smile. He stood up, not due to his role but out of sheer respect and good manners.  
  
"Establish a wave link with Noreen. Frequency 19.02-5, channel 1. Prevent outside view of the conversation. Prepare to accept incoming transmission from unknown source."  
  
The man sat down in his chair again and hastily began pushing buttons and typing commands. "Establishing comm.-link… Now. Waiting for a reply."  
  
Green dots appeared on the monitor furthest to the right, and proceeded across the screen in tandem. After roughly three and a half seconds, Rikter's primary adjutant appeared, replacing the dots.  
  
"Hello, Captain. All systems are prepared, and I have the Lieutenant on the line. Shall I connect him to you?"  
  
"Yes. Make sure that the conversation cannot be viewed by any outside sources, Noreen. I want full security on this line."  
  
"It's already been taken care of, sir. Sending transmat to you now."  
  
The screen showed Noreen looking down and concentrating on the buttons on her keyboard. Her brow turned into a short frown, which was quickly replaced by a sign of relief as she looked back up at her own screen.  
"Captain, I'm having some major static problems, but I think I've neutralized them. The interference appears to be coming from a high-energy source in Boralis, possibly a comsat station, but I'm not positive."  
  
"So that means that we have been scanned?"  
  
"It appears so."  
  
"Then they know where we are. There isn't much time left, so we have to get hurrying."  
  
The left most monitors filled with static, the sound coming through the speakers surrounding the room. A quick breakage in the irritation revealed a face, but it disappeared as quickly as it showed up. It took another few seconds, but finnaly a clear picture came up. A medium-sized black man was looking at Rikter, his right ear pierced by an earring. He had thick, full lips and brown eyes, an average nose, and two thick brows above his eyes. On top of his head was a dark-blue cap, no insignia. The Lieutenant spoke first, as if he were the superior in the conversation.  
  
"Ah, Captain. It is good to finnaly meet you. I am Lieutenant Samir Duran of the Confederate resistance forces." He spoke in a cool, calm manner.  
  
Rikter thought to himself. "Confederate resistance forces? What the—? No, it can't be. The Confederate government has been dead for three years. How could he possibly be a 'Fed? Something isn't right here, better ask some questions."  
  
"Lieutenant, as you likely know I am Captain Ian Rikter. I am a very busy person, so please save me the pleasantries and get straight to the point."  
  
"Very well, Captain." Duran looked down at a keyboard and typed for a few seconds before looking up again.  
  
"What are you doing?" Rikter asked in a suspicious tone.  
  
"I am just running a scanning program through the server's filters. You don't want this conversation to be intercepted by outsiders, do you?"  
  
"Okay, very well. I think you know standard procedure, do you not?"  
  
"Of course. Base of operations resides at 1280, main supply line originates from moon outpost Gantra. Direct mineral and vespene gas repository located at 1284. Adequate military barracking located at 1280. Adequate Starport facilities located at 1281. Adequate armor manufacturing located at 1280."  
  
"Noreen, begin a scan at those co-ordinates."  
  
"Scan in progress captain, results in ten seconds minimum, twenty maximum. Twenty-five will return inconclusive." The adjutant leaned over, her face no longer visible as she worked on the keyboard in order to produce the most efficient results of the search. Rikter looked back at Duran who was patiently waiting as the scan was being processed. He then looked back at Noreen, still fidgeting on her keyboard, her strange work-related frown clearly visible. She looked up and her arm flew past visibility on the screen as she flicked a switch above her own monitor.  
  
"Captain, the search is complete. All co-ordinates are correct."  
  
"Good. I'm sorry for the delay Lieutenant. The following are our credentials: Base of operations at 1465. Main supply line originates from primary fleet beyond the range of your sensors. Minerals and Vespene gas repositories are located at 1464. Adequate military barracking and armor facilities all located at 1466. No star port facilities. You may scan if you see fit."  
  
"I'll get on that right away. Captain, I don't meant to be a runt, but you failed to mention your organization to me. May I ask who you are?"  
  
"No, Mr. Duran. You may not."  
  
"May I ask why?"  
  
"No, you may not. Lieutenant, I am short on time. If you would be so kind, please state your business."  
  
"Well, Captain. I was originally hoping to know where you came from, but since you will not tell me I am somewhat hesitant to further my offer. I will play the cards, nonetheless. My party is interested in a mutual alliance, which we feel would be extremely beneficial for both of our groups."  
  
"Really? How interesting. I'll tell you what. Let me get HQ on the line. I am sure that they would be more than happy to confer with you. Please set receivers to frequency 102a, channel 1."  
  
"You got it." Duran leaned over again, this time typing on the keyboard for a longer period as to attempt to establish the best connection.  
  
"Noreen, contact the fleet. Get the Admiral on the line if possible, and tell them it is of utmost importance."  
  
"Of course, Captain." Noreen replied as she went to work on her computer. Nearly a minute passed between the initiation of the connection to when Noreen received a response from the fleet in high orbit of Braxis. Admiral DuGalle's secretary answered the call.  
  
"Yes, can I help you?" She asked Noreen.  
  
"I represent Captain Ian Rikter." Noreen began. "There is a matter of utmost importance and the Captain requests a communication with the Admiral."  
  
"I'm sorry. Admiral DuGalle is occupied, and has asked not to be disturbed for any reason. If you like, I can connect you with the Vice-Admiral."  
  
"That would be appreciated."  
  
The secretary punched some buttons on her keyboard, and her face soon was replaced with static and then an image of Alexei Stukov, Vice-Admiral and second in command of the UED expedition.  
  
He spoke to Rikter quickly and pleasantly. "Ah, Captain. What is it that I can do for you? If it is about the air support, I'm sorry. I felt that it would be best to withdraw for the time being."  
  
"No, sir. It has nothing to do with the fleet. I'm actually calling about a diplomatic matter."  
  
"Oh?" Alexei's expression turned surprised, and overly intelligent.  
  
"If you would please set your comm. to accept a call from one Lieutenant Samir Duran, same frequency. I have him waiting on the line, and he wishes to speak with you."  
  
"Very well, Captain." Alexei paused for a moment to type, and then looked back up. "Alright, everything is ready."  
  
Noreen typed some more, and within a few seconds time Duran appeared on Alexei's monitor. Again, he decided it was his role to speak first.  
  
"Admiral Stukov, I am Lieutenant Samir Duran of the Confederate resistance forces. We are a faction sworn to the defense of Confederate rule, and the end of Dominion government. I have come with an offer of allegiance for you. In return for my knowledge and skills, I ask only for amnesty."  
  
Alexei looked at him for a second, and then laughed.  
  
"Hahah… Lieutenant, you have absolutely no idea who we are or what we have come here to do. What in your right mind could suggest that we would side with you?"  
  
"I have been monitoring your forces laying in to Dominion strongholds, so I figured that we were on the same side. Was I wrong to assume this?"  
  
"No, Lieutenant, you were not. But before this goes any further, I am going to tell you that we are not a rebellious faction such as your own. Rather, we represent the combined power of the United Earth Directorate. We have come to this sector to reclaim the Dominion colonies and extinguish the alien threat in this area. We would be more than happy to ally ourselves with you, that is, if you can explain what use you will be to us."  
  
"Earth?" Duran thought to himself. "But what could Earth possibly be doing all the way out here? It would have taken… Calculating travel at five-thousand times light-speed… It would have taken nearly... Oh no. I wonder if they know?" Duran began to speak: "Well, I possess intimate knowledge of Braxis and the surrounding area. Plus, I can show you an alternate route to Boralis which may give us an edge."  
  
"Very well, Lieutenant. Consider yourself and your men the first colonial conscripts of the United Earth Directorate." 


	8. Chapter Five: The Price of Freedom

CHAPTER FIVE  
THE PRICE OF FREEDOM  
  
  
WHEN THE OVERMIND WAS DESTROYED, the Zerg did not die. Those Cerebrates strong enough to remain in control of the Broods rallied their forces and oppressed the weaker Protoss, pushing them to the point where the Khalai (the general population of the Protoss race) had to abandon Auir and flee to Shakuras, the secret home of the Dark Templar. For millions of years the Protoss had inhabited Auir, and not once had it failed to see the foot of a Protoss civilian touch its ground. But these Zerg didn't seem to be interested in tradition, and they didn't seem like they were going to wait for the Protoss to leave.  
  
While still grieving for the loss of their hero Tassadar, the Protoss concluded that there were two choices. The first was to remain on Auir and face a brutal death in hopeless combat. The second choice was to abandon Auir and travel to Shakuras, where the Protoss could reunite with their long-lost brethren, the Dark Templar, and return with a stronger army to retake the planet. With their civilization at an unmatchable low-point, there was nothing to lose by abandoning Auir. Those most brave and honorable remained at the front long enough to halt the Zerg advance on what cities still stood, while the majority of the Protoss army escorted the Khalai citizens to the only functional warp gate left on Auir. Using the warp gate, the few tribes that had survived the war upon Auir teleported to Shakuras where they could rally forces for their triumphant return.  
  
Preator Fenix and James Raynor, an exiled Terran who had helped in the murdering of the Overmind, remained with a small force to defend the warp gate and shut it down from Auir so the Zerg could not follow. Though every trace of logic suggested that they would be overrun and unable to escape, the two brave leaders remained on Auir's soil.  
  
After arriving on Shakuras, Zeratul, Judicator Aldaris, and the new Preator Artanis trained themselves and their armies for the subsequent war. During a routine scouting operation, the Protoss were horrified to find Zerg broods manifesting themselves on the planet. With Fenix and Raynor nowhere to be found, they were both presumed dead. It wasn't until after the Protoss defeated the Zerg expeditionary force did they discover that Fenix and Raynor were very much alive, and fighting to retake the warp gate on Auir.  
  
With the Zerg Cerebrates somehow sending their forces through the warp gate to Shakuras, Matriarch Raszagal of the Dark Templar insisted that the crystals Uraj and Khalis be recovered, for upon Shakuras was a great Xel'Naga temple with potent energies that would react only with the two crystals. Once the crystals were brought to the Xel'Naga temple, their power could be used to rid Shakuras of the infestation. Sarah Kerrigan, the infested Terran who sought to rule the Zerg, assisted them in their endeavors for her own reasons.  
  
Kerrigan made it clear that a new Overmind was growing on Char. The Overmind was comprised of several other Cerebrates who had merged together and was still in its infant stages. Because of this, it had no control over the Zerg Broods. However with time it would grow stronger and soon would have the ability to reorganize the Zerg into the mighty race they once were. Little did the Earth-born Directorate know that the Overmind they had come to claim was already dead, and that the existing one was weak and too young to properly function. If Kerrigan were to have her way (though she did not yet know about the Directorate), the UED would never find their Overmind, and it would never be able to vanquish the Zerg who would be totally under her blanket of hegemony.  
  
For months Kerrigan, Zeratul, Artanis and the Matriarch searched rigorously until both crystals were recovered on worlds many light years from Shakuras. An unfortunate turn of events delayed the cleansing of the planet, however. The United Earth Directorate fleet entered Protoss space, and the Templar warriors were forced to fight a terrible battle to pierce the blockade and continue the journey back to Shakuras. During the absence of the three leaders, former Judicator Aldaris had rallied forces and began full insurrection against the Dark Templar. His given reason was that he would eliminate the 'traitors' for siding with Kerrigan, however his true purpose might have been much more personal than he showed. At the behest of the Matriarch, Artanis raised what troops he could, and marched upon Aldaris' army. The two sides met on a small battlefield to decide the civil conflict, and after Aldaris' rebellion had been crushed by the young Praetor's command, Kerrigan interfered with the matter by killing Aldaris and demanding the Protoss to return the favors she had done for them.  
  
Appalled at what she had done, the Protoss banished her from Shakuras. In a rage, Kerrigan rallied those cerebrates who would follow her, and returned to Shakuras with a mighty army. The Protoss survivors numbered few, however they formed outside the Xel'Naga temple in true, ancestral fashion as the crystals were prepared for use against the Zerg. If the Protoss could win here, Zerg forces would be exhausted, and peace would be within reach.  
  
  
  
  
9:14 PM  
Sacred Xel'Naga Temple Ground  
Baelrang Province, Shakuras  
  
  
Outside of the temple were the staggering Protoss defenses. These defenses would decide the fate of the Universe as a whole. If they succeeded, the Zerg would be hard pressed to fight a day for some time. However if they were to be broken through, a hopeless massacre would occur on this day. And after Shakuras was totally overrun, the rest of it's solar system would fall, and soon the entire Koprulu sector. After that, anything was possible. The Zerg were not life, no matter how a scientist tried to classify them. They were everything that life was not. They were terrifying; They were sackers of peaceful civilizations; They were death itself, brought on by the evilest stirrings in the twisted minds of the divine. The suffering that they brought with them was like the foul stench of a man who never bathed. It flowed around them, affecting those in their vicinity and even tickling those nowhere near them. What was the purpose of such a diabolical race in this universe? Why had the Zerg come? If anything, they were unlike any foe that one could encounter. They were so ferocious, and so numerable. No race, save perhaps Humanity, could even come close to matching their myriad numbers. They could not be beaten. Drive them back and they would return stronger, more determined to crush you. Striking their leaders was the only conceivable way to win against them, and even doing that was near unfeasible. The Protoss had come to realize their true nature. The Zerg did not intend to conquer, but rather to destroy.  
  
They were nothing like any other race ever encountered. They assimilated the powerful races into their strains, and made extinct the weaker ones. They did not have males and females. All of their type were simple cross-sexes, all of them warriors, none bystanders. They were not born, but hatched. Their period of incubation was next to nothing, and the time it took to grow into a full adult was so short that it was futile to even consider it. Perhaps the reason that they were able to defeat the Protoss was just that; The Protoss took centuries to reach their highest level of power and strength. The males trained for decades before entering combat, and the females and younger ones stayed at home and could contribute nothing to the fighting and battlements.  
  
Perhaps if the Protoss could have been born a matter of days after their conception, and if they would have been born with the fighting skills they needed to defend themselves, then maybe, just maybe, they would have stood a chance against the Zerg.  
  
Zerg were born with a near-fully developed mind; They would learn little during their lifespan. They were born with natural carapaces and razor-sharp claws and teeth to rip opponents to shreds. They came with natural acids for spitting, and endless biological attacks that rivaled those of the best Protoss warriors. The Protoss were born with no special abilities past their own psionic strengths. With their natural psi, they learned to communicate without the need of a mouth. They used it to form a defensive shield around their body, their buildings, and their lifestyles. Like Humans, they developed tools to support their few natural features. They developed containment devices that could concentrate their own psi into a destructive blade that, when used to their avail, could cut it's victims to pieces. It was a dependency. Without it, the Protoss were nothing. But even their psionic capabilities were no match for the sheer savagery of the Zerg. At least humans could manipulate their surroundings to their own use. They were very much adaptable to a hostile environment. But the Protoss, without their psi, were nothing. And now, the power was again beginning to weaken.  
  
During the dark era called the Aeon of Strife, the Protoss were locked in a civil war, killing their own peoples, and their own friends and families. The spiritual bond that was ever so present between them began to break down, and soon their entire race was divided into tiny tribes, each cut off from the others. Now, with the deaths of so many of their brethren, with the civil wars, and the painful losses they had faced, the Protossian link was once again weakening. Auir was a wasteland, abandoned long ago. Those who had stayed and fought on it were never heard from again. Whether the fighting had continued or stopped, one thing was for sure: the Protoss were the furthest party from victory. And if any of them had managed to survive the bloodshed, they could easily be classified as the unlucky ones. Those who did not die would be forced to live like animals, hiding in caves and forests and going about in constant fear for their lives.  
  
Humans, those that had so often been considered "worthless", were perhaps the only reason any Protoss had survived the terrible bloodshed at all. They had helped on Char, on Auir, and on many other planets. And it was not without the help of Humans that the Protoss were able to defeat the wretched Overmind. Over the years, the Protoss and various Terran organizations had merged into a friendship. This was the kind of friendship that was nothing like schoolboys that got to know each other and grew up together. This friendship was one based on more than schoolwork, playing games, and getting dirty. This was the kind of friendship based on sweating, becoming stained with blood, and dying. This was a friendship brought on by war. Perhaps the Zerg were a test of will to survive. Maybe they had been created not to destroy great peoples, but rather to unite great peoples that were wholly separated by millions of miles of space.  
  
Whatever the case, this was not a game. This was a test, one with a time limit. Starving and outnumbered, these few Protoss were all that remained of this once great race. The thousands of lines of Protoss zealots and dragoons, Terran marines, medics, and tanks – this was it. Never before had these old opponents been united so fully, brought so closely together. It was time to make an important decision. As any other, this decision would affect everything. However unlike any decision, this would affect everything in a more profound way, a greater and more important way. The outcome of this battle would dust the universe with life, or corrode it with death. It was time for these Protoss and these Terrans to decide if they were going to rise up to the next level of their existence and give their lives for those they fought to defend, or if they were going to be thrown in the void of things past.  
  
Too long had these Zerg brought plague and pestilence across Auir and Shakuras, and all the other planets that had fallen before the swarm. If the Zerg had come only to unite these two races in unison, then they had far overstayed their welcome and it was time they leave. The battle ahead would be long, hard, and would set back the majority of all three participants: Zerg, Protoss, and Terran. However, it was a small price to pay for the freedom of those who survived to live another day, and for those who were not yet born.  
  
The great Xel'Naga temple stood as the highest building on Shakuras at a staggering three hundred nineteen stories. Each story contained a piece of the Xel'Naga legacy, and just a small piece was strong enough to contribute a great amount to the energy that the heart of the temple would release. Those whose hearts were corrupt with the mission to destroy the planet would die from the great blast, and those whose hearts were pure and free of evil would live not as warriors, but a patriots. The tall blue temple was the centerpiece of the combined efforts of the Terran and Protoss. Its four corners covered with a great yellow strip of metal giving the temple that eerie look of power. Its massive doors were wide enough to fit the largest breast of marines. Surrounding it were the hundreds of cannons, bunkers, turrets, tanks and other various defenses, and behind the perimeter of those were the massive formations of zealots, led by dragoon walkers and dark templar warriors. And next to those were the brave Terrans, led by James Raynor, who had volunteered to give their lives for these Protoss. But perhaps the Terrans had realized that if the Protoss lost here, the Terran people would soon be conquered and eliminated. It was far better to fight with the combined forces of the two than to present yourself on the battlefield with an army too small to make a difference. In the skies were the remnants of the Protoss fleet that had taken an entire year to repair, and the miniscule Terran fleet of wraiths and valkyries that would contribute little to the battle. Nonetheless, they occupied skies that would eventually be filled with the swarm's flyers and incredible hordes of mutant executioners.  
  
The young Protoss Praetor Artanis, who, over the years, had become a veteran of the war, was near the perimeter of the defenses examining the records of an observer. He had it locked in his palm, and he had twisted his wrist so its front would be his face. The observer had just returned from a scouting mission, and by the look on Artanis' face it had brought ill news. His black eyes, clear with sparkles of red (signifying stress and fatigue in the Protoss), stared blankly into the tiny probe's three inch screen as he quickly scanned through the calculated numbers and informative paragraphs. His nose, tickled with itch, though he barely noticed it, was a very slight feature on his face, nothing more than a small bump with two holes. And his duck-like bill filled the area where a mouth would appear on a Human. His mouth-less face showed anyone near him the dire situation that the day was. Sensing his distress, Praetor Fenix (who had been near-mortally wounded in a previous battle), in his custom-made dragoon walker, slowly moved over to him.  
  
"En Taro Adun, young Artanis!" He psionicly spoke.  
  
Artanis turned around to see Fenix approaching. He spoke back to him, his eyes glowing a taciturn blue as he transferred his thoughts. "Ah, Praetor Fenix. En Taro Tassadar. How goes it?"  
  
Fenix looked up into the night sky, filled with bright stars. It was the beginning of the two-hour period when both of Shakuras' ominous suns were down at the same time. Without the suns, a dark shadow was cast over the tiny Province of Baelrang, and its sandy dunes were only visible for a few tens of meters before you could see nothing but blackness. Fenix looked back at Artanis as he stopped his dragoon shell in front of him. "It goes alright. Fine evening we are having, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
Artanis remained without expression. "Perhaps it would be better if the Zerg were not lurking so near."  
  
Fenix didn't try to cheer him up. "What intelligence have you been able to gather?"  
  
Artanis raised his arm, letting go of the observer. It hovered in place above him, making a nearly silent noise as it discreetly moved up and down. "It does not look good, my friend. The Zerg have been inching closer and closer toward the temple. They basically have us surrounded, save for a few far away passes in the mountains. They have hive clusters set up within ten miles of us, and are massing their forces at various hives right now."  
  
"How many cerebrates are there?"  
  
"At least four."  
  
"So a pre-emptive attack would not be a wise choice?"  
  
"No. There are so many of them that it would be suicide. Our best bet of coming out of this alive is to remain here, and not activate the crystals until the majority of the swarm has hit us."  
  
"Majority?"  
  
"Yes, I've noticed the unique style of warfare that Kerrigan has. She first sends companies of tiny flying drones, adequately named bugs, to investigate the enemy defenses. They are almost too tiny to see, however our cannons are able to detect the majority of them. When the scouting operation is complete, she sends her forces to attack in waves. The first wave consists of the most expendable warriors, mainly Zerglings, who can begin to wear down perimeters and use up mines and hidden defenses. After the first couple of waves, she begins to mix in more evolved units such as hydralisks and small aerial teams. Once a clear path has been cut through the perimeter of our base we can expect to see third tier units, ultralisks and guardians, on the offensive as well. Overall, I imagine at least ten and perhaps twenty separate offensives by the Broods. So far we have not located any defilers, which is a blessing, however it is possible that Kerrigan may have them secluded in another area. It is my belief that we will be able to turn back the early assaults by force, and that it will be the final one which is the deciding factor of the battle."  
  
"It is a smart tactic. The Terran mines will be reduced in usefulness and the energy levels of our defenses will be lowered. However it must surely be costly on their numbers to attack in such a way?"  
  
"They do not appear very concerned about casualties. And they have good reason. We can expect the attack to come in the millions."  
  
"By Adun! How is it that they can re-spawn themselves so quickly?"  
  
Artanis didn't answer.  
  
Fenix looked on over the cannons, tanks, and bunkers into the Darkness. He sealed his thoughts from Artanis momentarily, as not to show his fear. "They are out there. And they are moving closer. I feel their energy growing... Adun, have mercy."  
  
Artanis looked over at Fenix, and then into the darkness as well.  
  
"Young Praetor," he began. "Zeratul wanted me to remind you to be in position when the attack comes. You must be prepared to move on a moment's notice. And, I think he wanted to speak with you before the attack."  
  
"I will talk with him shortly…" Artanis still looked over into the darkness, unlit and empty. Zerg were probably skulking around just beyond his line of site, he could feel their energy as he thought the exact same thoughts as Fenix.  
  
"Can we win, Fenix?"  
  
"We must. We have already lost our beloved Auir. Should we let Shakuras fall, there will certainly be nowhere left to run."  
  
Artanis looked back at his comrade with concern and unease. "You are sure that there is no other way?"  
  
"No other way for what?"  
  
"To win. Is there not a way to win without having to use these sacred powers?"  
  
"I fear not, my friend."  
  
"Then you know the consequences?"  
  
"I do. Believe me, young Praetor, I have thought of this for many days. There is no other way."  
  
"If we use these crystals with the temple, Shakuras will die."  
  
"Such is the price of freedom. If there was a way to avoid it, then I would surely be the first to volunteer, nonetheless, our fate is sealed."  
  
"Then the birds, and the fish, and all of the animals of this world give their lives. They do it for us, and those who would eventually have to face the Zerg. Maybe they are heroes greater than us, this day?"  
  
"Do not be so quick to underestimate even the simplest of life forms. They are the heroes. They will pay the ultimate price, and they do it without even knowing. That is more than I can say for myself, being that I know what I face yet still I may make it through the night."  
  
Fenix, in his cold and lonely shell that sealed him from the rest of the world, looked past the pickets. The Zerg were the greatest enemy of himself and the rest of his race. However, his war with them was much more personal. Due to a malfunction in his psi blades several years ago, he had lost his body to them. Ever since the accident, he had dedicated his free time toward the improvement of the psi blade containment device, as to never let something like that happen to any other of the sons of Auir. Now Fenix was nothing more than a head inside a robotic skeleton, though in these past years he had learned to utilize the machine as if it were his own body.  
  
Artanis, with his frail grayish-brown skin, crossed his arms, as he looked onward. It wasn't particularly comfortable for a protoss to do such a thing, but it was something he had learned from Raynor long ago and it had stuck with him ever since. His thoughts began to differ from Fenix's. While Fenix thought of his glory days when he still possessed his own body, Artanis thought of Auir. By Protoss standards he was very young, however had learned the arts of war as quickly and as fully as any other, and his combat skills had begun to rival those of Zeratul, perhaps Auir's strongest warrior of all time. He had grown up in Antioch and trained under Centurian Mar'Stof. He could fondly recall the days of his youth when he and Mar'Stof had trained upon the lush Auirian fields. What was his most important lesson, to him anyway, was when Mar'Stof knocked him over and with the surprise of it he lost concentration, relinquishing his psi shield and falling onto a sharp stone, which broke open his skin. Fighting the pain, he listened as his teacher cited the all too familiar words, "Never give up Artanis, for each mistake brings new knowledge, and new knowledge brings wisdom and intelligence." Those words had helped him deal with the pain of seeing Auir fall. He knew that if Auir could plunge, it could surely be retaken. And that was what kept him so dedicated throughout the entire war.  
  
Fenix turned to him. "You must speak with Zeratul young one. Go now, and remember me should I not make it through the night."  
  
"Fenix…" Artanis paused for a moment at a loss for words. It was difficult to imagine that such a grand person that had already died by these Zerg may have to die by them again. "Thank you. En Taro Tassadar, Fenix. We will meet again, though Hell should bar the way."  
  
Fenix turned and began to walk away.  
  
  
  
Across the metallic ramp and through the huge doctrinaire doors, the commonly seen rendering of Adun and some of his followers was the main detail of the entrance. Artanis met Zeratul conferring with the Matriarch and two other Templar. He excused himself and walked with the young warrior.  
  
Zeratul began to interrogate the young Templar. "Have you been able to gather any information about the Zerg attack?"  
  
"Yes," Artanis answered. "I have gathered a large amount of vital information. The Zerg have set up Hive clusters near our perimeter and have us almost completely surrounded. It is unlikely that we have a point to retreat to, so we either win here or we die. I have also discovered Kerrigan's unique attack style, dubbed The Wave." Artanis explained his observations to Zeratul.  
  
"To fight in that style, the Zerg most certainly have an extremely large force?"  
  
"Yes, they do. Our observers were unable to calculate the exact size of the force, but their numbers are estimated to be in the millions. That means that even the early attacks could consist of up to, or more than, fifty-thousand individual units."  
  
"If that is so, then the Terrans will surely run out of ammunition for their guns before the end of the battle."  
  
"I've spoken with Raynor already, and he claims that they have a sufficient amount of it. Their bunkers have auto-fill ammunition containers, and close in attacks will be fought with their firebat units. The Khalai have been working to adapt the guns with modified versions of our scout unit photon blasters, but so far have been unable to combine the two."  
  
"Damn the Terran primitive technology."  
  
"Ah, but Zeratul, you said it to me yourself – Do not underestimate these Terrans."  
  
"I suppose you are correct. Our jobs would just be much easier if they had they had a larger brain-capacity."  
  
"They are still a race in its infancy. We Protoss are a much older species."  
  
"Correct, as usual. You have learned much from this war, young Templar."  
  
"I shall take that as a compliment, old Templar." Both of them chuckled.  
  
"Yes, I am old. But not too old to remember how to have fun. When we finish our business here, I will show you the new training center the Khalai have been working on. It is truly a marvelous thing, and I wouldn't be surprised if they would give us a demonstration of its uses." Zeratul hinted at his young friend.  
  
"Zeratul," Artanis began. "You have been like a father to me these past years. There is nothing that I would love more than to train with you again. You know, you remind me of Mar'Stof."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"You knowledge seems so infinite. It is as if you have endless teachings hidden inside, and you always know what to say in any situation. Besides, your voice is similar to his."  
  
Zeratul looked blankly into Artanis' deep black eyes. He quickly changed the subject. He was never someone to take any credit at all. "It is unfortunate that we shall not have a chance to sleep before the battle."  
  
"You speak the truth. However we will have all the time in the world to sleep once this is over."  
  
"Will it ever truly end?" Zeratul became angry, not at anything specific. The two had walked down to the foot of the Nexus, and outside all the way to the great Xel'Naga temple. They stood in front of its single massive door, completely sealed and guarded by at least a dozen elite warriors.  
  
"Is it time?" Artanis asked.  
  
"It is. Are you ready to accept your fate?"  
  
Artanis paused, and looked up at the massive temple. "I am prepared to do what is necessary for the survival of our race."  
  
Zeratul instructed the guards to open the door, where he and Artanis stepped inside, giving a final farewell to the guards. Zeratul ordered that the doors be sealed to the maximum from the outside, to accompany the shields and auto defenses that would be put online shortly. They walked down a wide hall, the floor clang clang clanging as they walked.  
  
  
  
  
February 20, 12:14 AM  
Outer Battlements  
Sacred Xel'Naga Temple Ground  
  
"Range!" Jim Raynor was nestled inside a bunker with four other men. On his word, the firebat in the window moved back and was replaced by a marine. He plugged the auto-refill device into his gauss rifle and locked it in the place holder on the window. In front of the bunker was a two-and-a-half-foot-high wall of dead, decaying Zerg that had built up higher and higher after every advance. Past the bodies was a field of fallen attackers some four-hundred yards long, once occupied by mines, and now full of deep potholes, thick pools of blood and the destroyed remains of what used to be tree-like plantations. It was still dark, and nobody could see ten feet in front of them without straining their eyes.  
  
Raynor set his comm. device to the public channel. "This is Raynor. Auto defenses have been exhausted. Open the door, and ignite as many corpses as you can in ten seconds, then get back in and seal up."  
  
One could hear the sound of every single Terran bunker on the battlements opening its back door. Raynor watched the firebat run around to the front of the bunker and unleash a massive inferno upon the bleeding and wrecked corpses, some of which were already flaming. He managed to ignite an unusually large number of the corpses before Raynor ordered him to get back inside. The other men in the bunker didn't hesitate to seal the door and retake their designated window.  
  
"Look at those sons of bitches burn…" One of the marines said to himself, though everyone in the bunker heard it. The fire was quickly spreading, and it wasn't long before the entire wall of corpses had become a huge bonfire.  
  
"Reload!" Raynor commanded the siege tanks parked behind the bunkers.  
  
"That's eighteen." One of the men in the bunker reminded Raynor that the Zerg had already made eighteen advances, and number nineteen was coming up. The battle was already well under way, and the climatic ending was drawing near.  
  
"Commander!" Praetor Fenix contacted Raynor. "How is the line holding?"  
  
"Auto defenses are done with. We're down to our flesh and blood and a little help from the elements." Raynor relayed back to the Protoss commander, who was heading the entire body of Protoss infantry about a hundred yards behind.  
  
"I'll dispatch melee units to your position."  
  
"No, stay in formation. We'll evacuate when things get too spicy."  
  
"We can't allow them to pass the trenches."  
  
"They're not getting anywhere. Not through this. Stay in formation."  
  
"Very well. Don't let them get by!"  
  
Raynor looked out his window. He couldn't see past the flaming corpses, but he could see the sky filling with smoke and the rotting flesh bubbling and turning black. "It stinks." He said to nobody in particular. "What do you guys think it smells like?"  
  
The other soldiers in the bunker sort of looked at him, unsure of who was supposed to answer first. "Uh, maybe… kind of like burning dog shit?" One of them piped up.  
  
"What does that smell like?" Raynor asked.  
  
"Never tried it."  
  
"Didn't think so. You're probably right though. And it probably stinks real bad."  
  
"It's been almost two minutes. They should be coming back." The men waited in silence, as did the other Terrans, and the Protoss. Not a word, not even an order from an officer, came out of anyone's mouth. Thirty seconds passed before a drop a sweat leaked down the side of Raynor's unshaven face. They continued to wait. Another half-minute passed, and still, nothing. Another minute went by, the seconds ticking by more slowly each time. Every second was a thought – the same thought for everyone – are they coming yet?  
  
"What the gay?" Raynor wasn't sure what to make of it. "They haven't taken this long between any of the other hits. Ugh." The men in the bunker wanted to shake from fear of the beasts, but the stress and anticipation prevented it.  
  
"Maybe they're afraid of the fire?" One of the men suggested.  
  
"No. Their home is fire. They wouldn't be concerned with it."  
  
Behind the front lines, Fenix grew weary of the situation. He knew what was going on. The Zerg were massing for the final, decisive attack. "Infantry, ready to advance. Range units, forward. Now!"  
  
"Do you hear that?" The man next to Raynor said so quietly it was almost a whisper.  
  
"Yeah. Those would be our gracious guests." There was a slow, uneven rumble coming from the distance. Second by second, it grew louder and more intense. Raynor's moist face became sweatier. The rumble increased in clarity. His body temperature rose even more, nearly to the point of a fever. The mad cries of the Zerg hoard bothered his ears, making him cringe at the thought of the aliens. He felt his heart beating faster now. With each pound he felt the adrenaline tenfold. He could hear footsteps. They were getting closer – ever closer.  
  
A blast came from behind, and the shells of hundreds of tanks blew forward over the bunkers and into the oncoming mass. The earth shattering quakes of their striking the ground served almost to heighten Raynor's level of awareness.  
  
"Ready!" Raynor barked.  
  
"Sir!"  
  
"Hold fire."   
  
The men looked out their window into the oncoming oblivions, masked by the flaming wall of corpses in front.  
  
The rumble grew louder, and louder. "Ready!" Raynor kept his eyes peeled on the dire situation in front of him. He dared not blink. He was afraid of what might come through. Afraid of what might fly over the flames. He remained silent, not giving the command to fire. He was a statue, and the men in the bunker followed his example, guns pointed forward at the looming attackers, their fingers a word away from unleashing death itself – Almost as if death were a spell to be cast by a witch.  
  
"Sir?" They had been instructed to hold for too long. The Zerg would have been within firing range by now.  
  
"Ready…" Raynor drew on.  
  
"Uh, sir?" The concerned man next to Raynor began to question the commander's methods.  
  
"Don't get happy." Raynor didn't even move. It had been almost 45 seconds since he last blinked.  
  
"Sir, I really think we should–"   
  
"F-I-R-E!" Raynor gave the order. The three marines in the bunker shot blindly into the flames ahead. The gargled screams of falling Zerg were loud enough to hear. Another blast of shells came from behind, this time landing closer to the bunkers, their heat and pressure reflected back and bounced off walls again.  
  
From every bunker behind the trenches, hell and destruction was being sent forward. Nozzle after nozzle grew hot and heavy from the constant firing. Bullet after bullet was sent into the breasts and faces of the oncoming oblivion. An unthinkable roar, those gauss rifles did make. A greater thunder came from behind, and more tank shells landed in the midst of the oncoming Zerg.  
  
"Hold 'em steady, boys." Raynor tried to keep calm, but he wasn't doing so well anymore. He had seen more death and fighting today than he had any other day in his life. The firebat stood at ease in the center of the bunker, ready to hit the window and unleash his flaming inferno when the Zerg got in too close.  
  
Then, like a satanic entity, it hopped through the flames. It snarled, and seemed to look directly at Raynor. It kept moving, too fast for even the veteran commander to hit. It ran straight at him like an evil piece of Hell with intentions to kill. It was a meager Zergling, way ahead of its brothers. Raynor decided to ignore it, and returned to firing into the darkness, where he knew he would be hitting something. The Zergling jumped at him, and Raynor pulled back, the electric shocks surrounding the window sending millions of volts into the body of the oversized-dog and roasting it like a pepper. It fell to the ground, mangled and messed. Raynor went back to the window and continued shooting. It wouldn't be long now, until the beasts flew over the piled dead bodies and made impact.  
  
Yet another blast from behind. The shells hit the ground just a few yards passed the wall of dead bodies. Then, a late shot hit the bodies directly, breaking the barrier, and in an instant, almost as if the creatures had been lying in wait, they poured in through the hole and moved straight ahead to the bunker.  
  
"Close!" Raynor pulled his gun out of the auto-refill socket and was quickly replaced by the firebat, who immediately pulled the trigger on his twin-barrel flamethrower. He counted eight, maybe nine Zerglings in one trigger session, and then, as the greater force hit the edge of the bunker, he jerked the nozzle left and right in an attempt to hit more birds with fewer stones. The Zerg flew through the flames and over the dead bodies like demons, and they had only one goal in mind – destroying the bunker and moving on to make the next kill.  
  
The marines fired onward. There were four openings facing the front. Two gunmen on the left two windows, then the firebat where Raynor had been standing, and finally another gunman on the right window. They shot forward almost fearlessly, almost as if they were drones.  
  
Zerg seemed to come flying through the wall of fire, now. Faster than the men in the bunker could shoot, and the mass of attacks slowly began to grow larger and larger as they surrounded the bunkers. The siege tanks in the rear had switched to the more mobile 'tank mode', and were slowly firing weaker shots at the beasts as the crews drew slowly backward. Zerglings jumped at the windows only to be electrocuted, their stale and destroyed remains littering the ground in front. More powerful units were now appearing. The Hydralisks, with unbeatable control and range, were throwing strings of acid at the defenses, and they slowly began to add to the corrosion of the bunker caused by previous attacks.  
  
The dog-like Zerglings switched course, and moved around to the back of the bunker. The door to the rear of Raynor could be seen shaking by the force of their assault, and the loud banging was not unnoticed.  
  
"My God…" Raynor hadn't expected this many to hit the bunker at once. The men at the windows kept firing while Raynor held his rifle in position to hold back the Zerglings if they were able to break through the door. "Come and get me, you sons of bitches."  
  
"Sir!" The marine on the left window hurled backward and his gun was left firing blanks, the trigger somehow glued to the handle. The auto-refill containers had run out of ammunition. "Ugh, help!"  
  
"Dammit!" Raynor hollered.  
  
"We've got to get the hell out of here, there are too many!"  
  
Without a moment's notice, the huge, green ball of acid hit the bunker side, blowing through the window and taking out part of the wall to the side. It continued right through to the inside and made impact on the stomach area of the marine, who screamed and fell to the ground. He would die seconds later.  
  
"Guardians… Oh, no, no, no!" Raynor dashed back and hit his head on the wall. "Everybody out!" He said as he grabbed his head piece and tacked it onto the body section of his armor. "Save your ammunition. When I open this door, you give the Zerg a piece of Hell, and run to the Protoss like there's no tomorrow!" He went on his comm. "Fenix, it's the last attack. The Guardians have hit the bunkers. I've done all I can do. The groundlings are moving forward too quickly to hold back. Send in everything you've got."  
  
"Commander Raynor, get out now. I've got the situation under control." Fenix relayed back to the front lines. He moved his Dragoon walker up, several yards ahead of the massive Zealot formation and about twenty yards behind the lines of Dragoons. He began to order the advance. "Dragoon units A through F, advance forward. Target aerial units, and only aerial units." The units moved forward quickly and didn't hesitate to follow the order.  
  
"Brothers," Fenix began. "This is our last stand. Fight for the alliance. Fight for your lives. Fight for the lives of your loved ones. And most importantly, fight for everything that ever has been, and for everything that ever will be! Infantry – full advance!"  
  
The silent Zealots trailed Fenix at an incredibly fast pace. It wasn't long before the groundlings hammering at the bunker doors could be clearly picked out by Protoss eyes. The Dragoon units had now passed the Terran siege tanks and were firing into the skies, trying to lure the Guardians into the Protoss fleet to cover for the retreating Terran forces.  
  
Abandoning the bunkers and trenches were endless Terran footmen, fully unorganized and moving backwards, only hindering the Protoss advance. Raynor came within Fenix's line of sight. "Fenix, there are too many of them. What's going on?"  
  
"Relax, commander. Zeratul and Artanis are nearly ready."  
  
"You had better tell them to get going."  
  
Fenix would have smiled, if he still could. He gave the word, and the Zealots following him dashed past him, through the rows of Dragoons and tanks, over the bunkers, and into the hoard of Zerg ground units. The terrifying snarls and shouts of the zealous Protoss warriors in battle was almost too much for one man to accept. When they entered combat, they did not fight like a Terran; they massacred like a Protoss.  
  
The sound of psi Blades ripping through hides and skins was a disguisting one, and it made Raynor sick. The zealot warriors were completely immune to fear of the Zerg, almost as if they did not possess that feeling. The heat of the flames didn't bother them. The corroded carcasses didn't annoy them. They concentrated only on the fight, ripping Zerg apart piece by piece.  
  
"Mother of God. Look, Fenix." Raynor pointed to the sky. There was an oncoming fleet of some twenty-five-thousand Zerg flyers, and there were more to come. The combined Protoss and Terran fleet numbered roughly five-thousand individual warships, and perhaps slightly more than two-hundred carriers and Battlecruisers.  
  
"Attention: Protoss and Terran aerial attack forces. Oncoming fleet at 27.56.21. Respond to threat immediately, repeat, respond to threat immediately!" Fenix's word was swift, and the allied air fleet was quick to move. They engaged the oncoming fliers, and managed to hold them at bay with a degree of difficulty. The sky became clouded with flying bodies of flesh and steel. Now immersed in the climax of the catastrophic war, Raynor and Fenix ran ahead to join the ground battle.  
  
  
  
  
"Will this living Hell ever come to an end?" Zeratul nearly shouted in frustration. "If we lose here, there is little chance that anyone can stop the Zerg in the future. If we win, there is little chance that we will be able to stop the Zerg upon their return."  
  
"When will they return, Zeratul?"  
  
"I would estimate that it won't be long. A matter of years, no more than ten. They will at least attempt to establish holdings on Shakuras by that time. What happens after this I can only guess."  
  
"Why is it that you say things as if there is no hope?" Artanis demanded out of character.  
  
Zeratul didn't reply.  
  
The elevator was more like a huge, extremely slow platform intended to carry cargos to the top floor of a large warehouse. The floor suggested otherwise, though, with it's sparkling purple and yellow spots. Along the side of the elevator were ancient temple carvings – symbolism of the Xel'Naga legacy. They were wicked looking things, although none of them hinted at the true form of the ancient Protoss creators. That was something that had been forgotten long ago. Despite the best efforts of the Protoss excavation teams, the true form of the Xel'Naga was never rediscovered after the fallout of the Aeon of Strife.  
  
Of course, there were no more excavation teams. Anything even remotely affiliated with the Protoss race was on ground zero, hundreds of stories down from the temple peak. They had changed their way of life from that of simple science to warriorism. They were no longer prospectors, but soldiers. Fighting to defend what little was left of their heritage. With their lives stripped away from them, these poor remnants of a once great race had one goal in mind. Not the future, not conquest, power or even pride. They had changed their goals to that of basic survival.  
  
Artanis' pale face stared blankly into the Khalis crystal he was holding in his hand. Zeratul, holding the Uraj, was doing the same thing. The two great warriors, having only regret inside that they were unable to participate in the fighting, were left only to wait until the slow, soundless elevator reached the peak of the temple.  
  
"Forty stories remaining." Artanis said, not expecting Zeratul to respond. It was quiet now. Even though it was likely that the fighting had already begun outside, the thick temple walls more than masked the sounds of the bloodshed.  
  
"I, I…" Zeratul tried to say something, but he was too fatigued to fully recall what was on his mind. "I haven't slept for longer than I care to remember. None of us have. Damn these beasts. I swear that if I die, I will have done so at the hands of Kerrigan. And if that isn't possible, it is because I have killed every remnant of that forsaken race by my own hand, and with nothing but a straight mind and a clear con—" He stopped.  
  
"Why don't you finish?"  
  
"That is my fault. That is all of our faults…"  
  
"What are you saying, Prelate?"  
  
"Don't you see, Artanis? That is why the Zerg have come. They are our punishment! The punishment for ignorance!"  
  
"No Zeratul. Don't speak in that manner."  
  
"Yes! The damnable conclave began all of this. The Zerg must most certainly be meant as a way to unite us in full once again, but when the best of us became so corrupt as to… murder those we had sworn to protect, the Gods saw fit to punish us! That is it!"  
  
"I don't underst—"  
  
"Think harder, Artanis. The Gods intended to punish us. Perhaps only the conclave was corrupt at the time, but they felt that bit of corrosion in us all. Now that one of us has realized our ignorance, perhaps it is time to vanquish the Zerg. This is our final chance. We will be victorious. We will return to the great roots of our civilization!"  
  
"You… are right."  
  
"I know that I am right. I can feel that I've reached the answer to all of this."  
  
The elevator came to a stop as the sides of the temple began to curve inward, forming a central peak. An open door was the first step to victory. The two Protoss patriots stepped outward, where they came face to face with hundreds of tiny bugs, glowing with energy. These were the Xel'Naga. Highly shrunken, but they were most definitely the lowest-end of the species that bad given birth to both the Zerg and the Protoss. This was a sign, and both Artanis and Zeratul realized it. This sign must have been from the Gods. Zeratul was correct. It was over.  
  
The temple, engulfed by a massive blanket of spirit energy that formed a hearty shield, was completely overtaken by a sight that no eyes should ever have been forced to witness.  
  
Hundreds upon thousands of flying death-bringers flew in an organized fashion around the outskirts of the energy shield, throwing at it glave worms, acid spores and whatever else their body's chemical structure could produce in a rancid attempt to destroy what was going to undo them.  
  
On the ground, massive formations of zealots could be seen advancing forward in a slow, even march to combat the hordes of Zerg that had slain the front line Terran firebats and marines, ripped apart cannons, bunkers and siege tanks, and even slain many of the Protoss infantry who began the engagement on the ground.  
  
Entire fleet squadrons crashed into the ground in mere seconds as the Zerg flyers threw back their attacks time and time again. This was an absolute slaughter fest. The sounds of the battle rang off of the temple, magnified a hundred times. Anyone weak in spirit would already have halted and dropped everything as they stood still, staring in awe at the race of killers.  
  
Zeratul held up the large and heavy Khalis crystal, which he had been holding the entire time. Its gentle, blue glow calmed his nerves, as he knew that within the crystal was the infinite power of the great Xel'Naga. As Artanis looked on, Zeratul followed a narrow path, down toward a massive gateway of energy. As he took a final look at the poisoned skies of Shakuras, the memories of what seemed like forever flowed through him. The memories of his life, his friends, and his home planet passed through his mind, and for the first time, he had a clear conscience. Then, he placed the crystal into the field of energy before him. All at once, he felt a smooth sensation throughout his entire body as he let go of the crystal. It floated in place within the field of energy, and then Zeratul turned, and walked away.  
  
Artanis moved to the far side of the energy field. His memories, poisoned by a brutal war, were not as helpful as to put him to rest. Yet, with a definite determination to see his people live to the next day, he placed his green Uraj crystal into the field of energy. Its soft, green glow spread throughout, and he turned and took his place next to Zeratul.  
  
The tiny bugs all moved in unison to the crystals, overtaking them and transferring their power throughout each surviving member of the Protoss race. They had come from the heavens with instructions to lay to rest those Zerg who had come to do harm, and lay to rest they did. A magnificent eruption of smoke and light came from the temple, and as the spirit of the Xel'Naga killed the planet of Shakuras, those Protoss who had feared not for their lives – but only for each other – breathed a sigh of relief. The fighting stopped.  
  
And when the light dimmed, everyone stood staring at a bleak desert landscape free from the wrath of the Zerg. 


	9. Chapter Six: Into the Breach

CHAPTER SIX  
INTO THE BREACH  
  
  
12:18 AM  
Central Command, Boralis, Braxis  
  
SAMIR DURAN WAS STANDING ALONE, feeling surrounded. Of course, since he was somewhat surrounded, this was not an uncalled for feeling to him. He looked up at the ten-foot-high power generators in the very center of Boralis' central command center. They were large, featureless metallic boxes filled completely with wires, computer chips, and other garbage that was on no importance in the situation.   
  
What was important is that Duran knew that each of these generators contained a highly combustible coolant that, when detonated, tended to make a big explosion. He had already used the secret entrance to the city to obtain access to the public domain, using a fake ID to pose as a Dominion senator from Korhal. Because of the general stupidity of the city guards, Duran was able to get in without even explaining his objectives in the city. It was clear from this point on that Captain Rikter had been somewhat stupid from the start. If he had made an attempt to scout the surrounding area, he would have discovered Duran's base earlier, or at the very least located this hidden entrance to the back of the city. Though it was heavily fortified, the Dominion defenses were not as strong as they liked to think they were. A mind as clever as Duran's was one that the Dominion should have prepared for. Of course, the Magistrate of this colony was somewhat of an idiot, and thus ran this vital military outpost without the careful attention it always needed.  
  
After gaining free access to the city, Duran made his way to the most preciously guarded area of the city, which contained not only the residences of the Mayor and Magistrate among others, but also the central communications and command of the city. Even though the perimeter was fully covered by stealth-cloak detection, Duran initiated his cloaking abilities and was careful to sneak into the fortress without being noticed. At certain points, there were areas where detection devices did not exist and Duran could sneak right past armed guards without care. Though killing them would have been something that he would have relished, it would have alerted other guards to his presence and put the success of the mission in jeopardy, or worse, his own life.  
  
After reaching the main power generators inside this elegant Command Center, Duran was surprised to find that it was very much unguarded, and that he was able to move in without causing a ruckus. For a city that was under siege by an enemy of unknown size, strength, or influence, this was just sloppy.  
  
Duran's plan was simple. He was already in position, and he knew the way out perfectly. All that he needed to do was plant his remote-detonating explosives (his own little creation) on these generators. It would cause enough of an explosion to fully disable communication across the city – at least for a short time – and cause enough commotion to allow Directorate forces to move in from behind and capture the mineral line in the city's northern entrance. With this done, the rest of Boralis would be potatoes for the picking.  
  
The large man reached into his belt, which contained the explosives vital to this mission. He pulled one out, and rolled it around between his fingers. It was a tiny thing, not much larger than the head of a lollipop, yet it contained a force greater than one sixteenth that of the miniature nuclear explosive so commonly used by these Dominion ruffians. With only a few of these little balls and the reaction of the coolant in these generators, Duran could blow the walls of the command center several hundred yards in each direction. It would not only guarantee the Directorate victory, but it would also be a fun show. This city, already incredibly damaged by the prior assault, was just minutes away from having a new government, and its citizens didn't even realize it.  
  
Being under stealth cloak, Duran was able to move about the area without worry. He estimated that he had about ten minutes before the effect of his cloaking mechanisms would falter, causing him to come into view. Working quickly, he pulled from his belt a tiny ball of sticky gum, which he glued to the tiny explosive. He then meticulously placed it on one of the generators, and headed to the next one. He repeated this process several times until there was an explosive attached to each generator. He counted a total of eight explosives, enough to blow a small crater in the ground. He now had about eight minutes until he would have to de-cloak. Duran exited the unguarded room and headed down the hall, dropping one of his little bombs every here and there, just to make sure that everything would be fully destroyed in the blast. No survivors, so no problems. That was Duran's personal code of war.  
  
Once outside, he noticed that he was no longer cloaked. Though he still had more than five minutes remaining on his stealth mode, a detection device was impeding its functionality. Duran was careful not to be noticed. He kept to the walls of the inner city and moved quickly. Once he was at the entrance of the inner city, he was cloaked again. He waited for one of the guards to open the gate and allow someone to leave. He followed him, walking closely enough for the man to feel the breathing on the back of his neck.  
  
Now that he was home free, Duran headed to an alley and de-cloaked himself. He headed back onto the streets, and found an empty warehouse roughly one mile from the explosion site. He headed inside, and pulled out a small controller. This was the device that he would use to complete his work in this mission. This was the device that was going to win this city over.  
  
12:42 AM  
Outskirts of Boralis  
  
Jesse looked on at the seemingly dead city. The sky was completely black, stars visible in the clear night sky. He stood alone, about five feet in front of what remained of his squad. The Directorate squads were formed into a rugged but effective formation. Each squad consisted of twenty men exactly, five abreast and four deep. In front of each group of men was the assigned squadron commander, clearly visible at the front right corner. This pattern repeated over a large area. There were five rows of this infantry formation, each row consisting of about one hundred squads. For some reason, Rikter had refused to include goliaths or siege tanks in this second assault. The fate of this city be would be decided by a massive advance of thousands of infantrymen.  
  
Each soldier standing behind Jesse had seen the bloodshed of the prior attack. It was partially his duty to ensure that this foray would not be a repeat of the failure of the early day's attack. The casualties of the earlier battle were so intense that many of the squadron commanders were maimed or killed, and at least sixty percent of those leading their group into combat right now had been dubbed a commander just moments ago. Though Jesse was lucky that he did not face the same fate as many of his comrades, he was unsure why he didn't die. The boy was shot, but it had been a faulty bullet and failed to penetrate his armor. Why was he still alive? Jesse was unable to comprehend any of this.  
  
His good friend Miguel stepped out of his place in line, completely clueless as to what was going on. All of these privates had been instructed only to assemble here, and had no briefing on the mission itself. Jesse turned his head to see his friend with a questionable looking face.  
  
"Jesse," Miguel spoke out, "What are we waiting for?"  
  
"A sign." Jesse said back, almost whispering.  
  
"What kind? Everybody is getting impatient. We've been standing out here for over an hour."  
  
"I don't know yet. Rikter only said that we would know it when we saw it."  
  
"Oh great. How much longer?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Marlon and Paul joined the two, stepping out of line and causing others in Squad C as well as Squads A, B, D, and AC Prime to wonder what was going on. Still, nobody moved or spoke. Jesse and his three war buddies had a quiet conversation. Though they begged Jesse to find out what was going on, Jesse couldn't really tell them anything. He himself had no information that was vital to the mission.  
  
"So, we are just going to keep waiting?"  
  
"Yeah. Lieutenant Duran has gone into the city on a stealth mission of some sort. I guess he's our sign."  
  
Rikter, still dressed in the only teal combat suit on the field, was beginning to wonder what was going on. Was this Duran guy all that he was cut out to be? Was he just a Dominion spy intent on gathering information? What if he was captured, and they were beating information out of him right now? HQ had made a mistake in giving vital mission information to such an enigma, he was sure. He could only wait for this sign to happen. "Come on. It's been more than an hour. Let's get it moving, Mr. Special intelligence." Rikter was beginning to curse Duran's name in his head. As far as he was concerned, this was just getting stupid.  
  
"Jesse!" Miguel was starting to sound like an impatient child. "Why not ask the Captain?"  
  
"Because, Miguel." Jesse paused for a moment. "Because it would be a dumb thing to do. Guys, just get back into position, okay?"  
  
The three soldiers took their positions in the formation again, and stood with guns at rest, like everyone else. Back at the front row, Jesse's back was starting to hurt. He had been standing in the same place for over an hour, and hadn't even moved his feet from the snow. He was a statue.  
  
Quiet overtook the army. As there had been loud voices and conversations before the start of the last attack, there were no sounds at all coming from the mouths of these soldiers. The casualties of the earlier battle were so much greater than expected that this battle was either going to make it or break it. If the Directorate could not capture Boralis, the main infantry core would have suffered such great losses that a third attack would likely be impossible. And if Boralis didn't fall, this entire planet's security could be jeopardized.  
  
Like a strike of thunder, a massive explosion from within the city sent pieces of an unidentifiable building in all directions. The force from this bombing was so great that even Jesse, hundreds of yards away, could clearly feel the velocity of the flying metal chunks. It was a magnificent sight in the dead of night, and not one soldier neglected to look at this wild display. In a mad storm of surprise, the Directorate squads who had been caught off guard by this unexpected event managed to keep calm under the conditions.  
  
Rikter sent a message over the intercom to all squads. "That's it. On my mark, we make our advance toward the city. I will provide basic briefing and instructions as we go."  
  
Jesse looked back at his squad, as he had always trained himself to do, and raised his gun into the air. This signified his readiness as their leader, and implied that they take the safeties off of their weapons, hold tight, and prepare to move.  
  
Rikter didn't look back. Instead, he only stared onward at the city. Duran's voice came over his intercom. "Captain, all preparations are complete. Dominion forces have been caught off guard and are in shambles. Their main communications have been severed, and I have disrupted power to several areas of the city. Command of the mission now belongs to you. Good luck."  
  
"Mark. All squadrons: basic advance. Remain in formation. Go!" Rikter barked his order to all squadron commanders. Each of them, including Jesse, replayed the information to their troops. The mass of roughly ten thousand armed men began to walk at a steady pace toward Boralis. Rikter began with instructions.  
  
"The Dominion is expecting the attack to come from the same position as last time. HQ has managed to distort input-output signals and have partially tricked Boralis into believing that the attack will repeat itself. We are approaching from the opposite direction. The area we are targeting is a thin mining valley between two fairly low cliffs. Basic mining operations have been halted for the night, and defense of the area is minimal. We should be able to advance over the cliffs with minor difficulty. Once we have overrun their position, the remaining defenders will retreat into the city where they will regroup with what defense the city has managed to muster. We have to break into the city within four minutes, or the resistance will have built in the area to a level that we believe to be strong enough to retaliate against the attack. All vehicles have been left behind, as they will only slow this mission. We will not be able to rely on tanks for cover fire, so you'd better be ready to kick some ass on your own. Squads are to remain in formation, and will advance over the cliff as I call their letters. If anybody is wounded, they are to be left behind. I have a team of heavy medical staff in the rear, and they will be covering our casualties. All you need to worry about is getting past the defenses. Once we break into the city, we should have won complete control over it, and the Dominion defenders will be forced to surrender."  
  
Once Rikter was finished with his instructions, the formations had advanced about one hundred and fifty yards toward the mining operation. Still moving at walking pace, formations had held tight. Jesse, and most other squadron commanders in the front line, noticed a field of tightly packed mines partially hidden under the snow. "Mine field ahead!" Jesse yelled to all participants in the battle. Rikter slowed down and attempted to mix into the lines, as he had been about thirty feet ahead of everyone for much of the advance. He then shouted his first battle order over the intercom.  
  
"Squad A, this is Rikter. Begin full speed advance toward the cliffs." The squad, which was two over from Jesse's position, separated from the lines and began a quick movement towards the city. As they grew further from the rest of the mass, Rikter relayed the same order to the B squad. Seconds later, the same order was relayed to Jesse's squad. The A squad, quite a distance forward, began to rush the city walls at full speed. Coming into their view were the clear outlines and curves of the cliffs Rikter had been talking about. Once they reached them, the infantry could simply slide down and, with guns blazing, run past the defenses and into the wide-open city.  
  
"Mine field ahead!" Jesse shouted over his intercom for the second time. Suddenly, a small explosion from the front Squad sent a soldier flying into the air. Various parts of his body had been removed from their socket and dropped in a scatter over an unusually large area.  
  
"Squad A, this is Squad C." Jesse made contact with the leading mass. "You are treading over an active mine field. Be careful."  
  
"Roger that, C. We've got it covered. Just play follow the leader."  
  
A second explosion went off, this time striking a member of the B squad. A third hit A squad again. Squad C had not come into contact with a mine yet, but it was inevitable that they would before hitting the cliffs. Jesse tried to keep his mind clear. He blocked out what was going on; the death sentence that was being pulled over these poor soldier's lives was everything to him. Yet as a soldier must, Jesse blocked it all out in order to preserve his own life. The young man found this extremely difficult to do, for inside of him were emotions and feelings which spoke volumes. He had a heart of gold, and a mind of steel. Jesse was, for lack of a better word, the ideal person.  
  
Another explosion rocked the ground as another mine was detonated. Jesse did not witness anything, suggesting that the sacrificed life was one from squads D or E, well behind him. Squad A reached the cliff, and the soldiers discretely poured over the edge, dropping a massive twenty or so feet to the bottom level. Gunfire began, and Jesse knew that the time for action had begun. Now, a mere forty yards from the cliffs, it was time for him to suck it all in and take it like a man. Still, no member of Jesse's squad was unfortunate enough to set foot on a mine. Not far into the darkness lurking ahead, squad B began to flood the small mining valley. Within a minute, there would be enough Directorate troopers down on the savage battlefield to totally overrun the weak Dominion resistance. It was all a matter of taking the valley in due time and making way into the fortified city. Jesse estimated that he was now a mere fifteen yards from the cliff. With every long stride he took, he counted down one yard in his mind. A mere matter of seconds passed, and Jesse found himself surrounded by his squad and looking over the edge of the steep cliff. It was smaller than he anticipated. If anything, it was more like a cavern than a valley. It was less than 20 feet wide, and appeared to be at least a couple of hundred yards in length. Jesse gave the order to move in.  
  
"Over!" He led the jump while trying to block the fear of it from his mind, as he had been doing the fear of the fighting. As Jesse hit the ground, he felt a sharp pain go up his leg. It was as if a thousand bullets entered at a single point of impact. This was something that reminded him of his childhood. He screamed, every soldier in his squad hearing it. As they rushed to see what was wrong with their beloved leader, Jesse fell to the ground in pain. He was left lying in the snow with his leg wrapped around a large, sharp stone in an extremely awkward position. Somehow, the bottom latch on his right shin piece had come lose, forcing the bottom leg attachment on his armor to fall off, and when Jesse had hit the ground his right foot had landed on top of this stone. His leg was now broken, and he knew it. He let out another scream, barely load enough to overtake the noise of the rapidly firing infantry guns. As Jesse's men went to his aid, one of the men in his squad fell right on top of Jesse, a heavy sprinkling of blood covering his visor. Jesse pushed the man off of him.  
  
"Jesse!" Miguel ran to his assistance. Jesse's best friend looked at his leg, and determined that the bone was slightly protruding his skin. A thick flow of blood had stained the snow under him, and it wasn't letting up. More soldiers poured over the cliff side and made their way to the front lines of the push. The majority of squad C had proceeded forward as they had been ordered to do, but five men stood standing around him still. Miguel removed Jesse's helmet. Since his suit had already been punctured, all internal pressurization and temperature had been lost, so there was really no point in leaving the thing on. The look on Jesse's face was one of pain and worry. Miguel assured him that everything was going to be all right, as even more troopers poured over the edge of the cliff. The majority of the infantry body had reached the top of the cliffs now, and began hopping down from all positions, not just on top of Jesse. Rikter, the noticeable teal warrior, hopped over the edge and stopped, looking at Jesse.  
  
"All casualties are to be left behind. Move it now!" Rikter ordered.  
  
"But sir," Miguel pleaded, "He is commander of squad C."  
  
"Make me repeat myself and I'll make sure that squad C has one less asshole left in it. Get moving, NOW!"  
  
"Sir!" Miguel saluted the captain, and signaled the other soldiers from the squad away. "Jesse, I'll be back. You stay here, the medical team will fix you up no problem."  
  
"Heh heh heh." Jesse offered a painful chuckle to his friend. "Don't get yourself dead."  
  
Miguel stood and ran to the battlements with his comrades. The entire squad idea had been completely taken apart by now, as thousands of men filled the tiny valley and ran at full speed toward the entrance to the city. Jesse looked up at the cliff tops as more of his allied troopers headed into the city. It looked like more of a waterfall of white infantry units than an attack on Boralis. Jesse waited, knowing that each and every man passing him would glance at him. "At least I'm popular." Jesse tried to think straight, but the wound combined with the cold was a bit too much for him to take. "Medic!" He yelled as loud as he could. But this was not very loud, considering that amount of pain he was in, Jesse didn't do too well at raising his voice.  
  
Finally the advance of the Directorate troops halted. They had all massed at the end of the valley and were probably trying to break into the city at this very second. Jesse's leg throbbed. He was freezing from the night temperatures. His LED had stopped working, but he estimated that it was roughly –20° Celsius. His mind had stopped working too. With the temperature and his broken leg, he was really unable to comprehend exactly what was going on. He was pretty sure that his mouth was full of vomit, but he couldn't really taste anything. However when the medic hopped over the cliff and landed right next to him, her blazing brown hair flowing in the wind, Jesse's senses seemed to return to him. Even in the pure darkness, he could see that she was about 5'10". Her helmet was detached, allowing him to get an excellent view of her face. She was a beautiful young girl, probably not more than 25. Jesse had difficulty describing her to himself, because to him she seemed almost perfect. At first he wondered if he was dead, but then he remembered the pain from his leg. If he was dead, this certainly was not heaven.  
  
The medic shone a bright white light on him. After seeing that he was very much alive, she knelt down beside him, activated her shoulder-mounted flashlights, and spoke to him. "Are you alright?" Her voice was soft, and her words seemed to ripple right off of her tongue. Jesse was at a loss for words, but somehow, he managed to spit out a few words.  
  
"I'm…" He paused, not exactly sure what to say for a split second. "Take a look at my leg. Tell me if I'm okay, doctor."  
  
She stared into his eyes. "By the looks of it, you're pretty torn up, my friend." The girl wasn't like the other medical staff Jesse had met. She was polite, and very gracious. "Let's see if I can't help you, here." She reached into a sack attached to her armor and pulled out a small needle. She took off the protective covering, and held it up near his face.  
  
"I'm going to poke you in the neck with a special medication. It'll freeze your whole body up, so you won't be able to feel any pain anymore." The girl spoke slowly. The distant sound of gunfire was hardly noticeable anymore.  
  
"I'm okay. A little pain never mangled anyone."  
  
She giggled. "Don't be silly. You don't need to impress me. Your bone is sticking right out of your leg. I know that you're screaming inside, so let me do it. Okay?"  
  
Jesse couldn't believe what he was about to say, but she seemed like the type that wouldn't stray away by a little baby talk. "I hate needles. Why the neck, anyway?" Now he was thinking as if he had a chance with this girl. He knew he didn't, but he couldn't help what he felt. "But I think I like her," He ran those words deeply through his mind. It was at that very second when she looked up at him, a strange look on her face, almost as if she had read his mind. This gave Jesse a bit of a start.  
  
"Because the fluid will reach the brain faster. Once you can't feel it anymore, I'll stick that bone of yours back into your leg, and carry you back to base, where I can fix you up without worrying about getting my limbs blown off."  
  
"You're going to work on me?"  
  
"Yep!" She stuck the needle into his neck without warning, and within seconds Jesse felt a little tipsy. At this point, his head slumped down and he felt almost as if he had just taken a stim, which had effects that refused to wear off. "Can you feel anything?" The girl asked him.  
  
"Ugh… No." Jesse replied, not really sure where he was anymore.  
  
"Great. Here goes nothing." She examined the broken bone on his leg for about a minute, and then concluded that she had best leave it broken until she was properly equipped to handle an unexpected bleeding fest. "I'm going to take you back to the base now, alright?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
With this, the young medic hurled the freezing, tired-from-blood-loss, hurting squadron commander over her shoulder and started back to their temporary home – Base camp.  
  
  
  
  
Miguel looked over his right shoulder to peek around the building corner from his position in the dark alleyway. To his left was Paul, the old friend of Miguel's that he had only recently really started to know. The street was empty, save for a few dead bodies, most of which belonging to the Dominion Marine Corps.  
  
"It's clear. Let's go." Miguel waved Paul forward, and the two men dashed into the deserted street. After stopping for a split second, they headed north at a rapid pace in search of another group of Directorate men. Only ten minutes ago, the Directorate had broken past the city's perimeter defenses and headed into its heart, where the street-to-street bloodshed began. In a short amount of time, both the defending and attacking armies had broken up into thousands of tiny groups of just two or three men each, and each group had taken a different course throughout the city in an attempt to hunt down and destroy the enemy. Of course, the Dominion troops knew that they had already lost. At this point, there was no way that they could possibly fend off the assault. The damage had already been done. Thousands of innocent civilians caught in the crossfire had been killed, and the defenses were so scattered and broken that, without their standard communication (which Duran had put a halt to), it was a hopeless effort.  
  
"Where's Marlon?" Miguel asked Paul as the two ran full speed down the street.  
  
"I don't know," Paul replied, "He was with us at the gate, but when the army split we lost him.  
  
"Damn." Miguel said under his breath, strangely worried about the brute. For a reason he couldn't explain, Marlon had sort of grown on Miguel quite quickly. In actuality, he wasn't that bad of a guy.  
  
Miguel then thought about Jesse, left behind the rest of the men to rot. He could only hope that his friend had received the utmost care from the medical team, and knowing the quality of the soldiers sent into the Koprulu sector, Miguel was sure that he had. It wasn't until after a bright red glossy color caught Miguel's eye did he stop thinking of Jesse. At this point, he raised his rifle and pointed it at the trash can that the enemy trooper appeared to be hiding behind.  
  
The man dashed out and, as he ran, fired a stream of bullets at the two Earthlings. Missing their marks, Paul saw fit to fire back at the lone man responsible for the bullets, and with a quick burst from his gun he ended his life. The soldier fell straight down, left as nothing more but a cold reminder of the destruction witnessed this day.  
  
"Fucking idiot." Marlon approached his two friends from behind, nearly startling them. When they looked back, Miguel and Paul became aware of the relatively large group of men at Marlon's side.  
  
"Whoa, you almost gave us a start, big guy." Paul made a cocky stance and counted the fourteen men with Marlon. Miguel said nothing.  
  
"Bitch gotcha tongue?" Marlon asked Miguel, who chuckled.  
  
"I wish!"  
  
"Mmmkay, I've got intel from command," Marlon continued, "it says that we're supposed to meet at the west pillar. Apparently, Boralis is trying to mass what's left of its army in a fortified area down there."  
  
"Where did you hear this?"  
  
"General message over the comm. Aren't you listening?"  
  
"I… uh…" Miguel suddenly realized that his small comm. Device had been set to ignore outside announcements. "Thanks." He said, switching it on.  
  
"We've gotta move."  
  
  
  
  
As Miguel, Paul, Marlon, and their company of other marines approached the west pillar, they witnessed the huge Directorate militia crowding around buildings and squeezing as close in as possible. What could have been several thousand fighting units had already been established and they were preparing to move in on command. The rest of the militia simply massed on the street corners for several blocks, eliminating any hopes of organized movement.  
  
Fighting for a spot on the fringes of the mass that now had a front of something like six-thousand men in a massive semi-circle, Miguel decided he would take command of this group of men to form them into a temporary squad. While he blasted formation orders through his comm., the rest of the men obeyed, even though they were not entirely happy about his self-appointed leadership. The men assembled on the left side of the circle around the massive pillar, and were quickly overcome by even more allied soldiers.  
  
Marlon looked forward and smiled, almost as if he was enjoying the slaughter. "Hey Miguel, look." He pointed to the far right side of the mass, and Miguel witnessed a break away from the formation. Some hundred men advanced quickly over the destroyed and beaten streets. The gunfire from the inner fortifications of the pillar began, and the advancing Directorate forces took refuge under scraps and pieces of what used to be small buildings, and at breaks in the bombardment, returned what fire they could manage.  
  
Captain Ian Rikter's all too common voice came over the com. "On my mark, ready!" He shouted as he stepped out into the front line. Rikter was not a coward. For him, taking the front was like holding his own child – it just came naturally.  
  
"Mark!" He gave the command, and the massive sea of white infantrymen charged inward toward the pillar. There was hardly room for the mass to move.  
  
The first line dove into the snowy streets and fired off entire rounds while the second and third lines respectively fired from knee and waist heights. Red Dominion bodies fell like pins to a bowling ball. Slowly, the white mass moved up to the pillar's final fortifications and charged through entranceways and broken walls, shooting anything that had a gun (and even some things that didn't). Boralis was over. Braxis was won.  
  
Rikter didn't even put away his gun as he ordered the Fortune 5 Command Center to relay the victory to the fleet. Lieutenant Duran, the man heavily responsible for the success of the attack, stepped cautiously through the mass of Dominion bodies in the bloodied streets and looked at the Captain boastingly. Rikter looked away. 


	10. PART 2: BLEED WITH ME

PART 2: BLEED WITH ME 


	11. INSERT: THE STORY SO FAR

INSERT  
RECAP OF THE STORY SO FAR  
  
The Protoss victory over Kerrigan's forces has resulted in the extinction of any Zerg under the orderly control of cerebrates. Not only have the Protoss been able to safeguard their borders, they have disabled Kerrigan's ability to attack the fledgling Overmind and usurp its forces. With the threat of another invasion to Shakuras eliminated, the Protoss take flight to Auir to retake their once proud home world.  
  
With the Directorate's newly acquired foothold on Braxis, plans ensue to liberate the remaining twelve worlds in the sector. The Protoss, in their state of weakness, are unable to deal with the new Overmind directly. Playing their trump card, they can only hope the unsuspecting Directorate will launch its invasion on Char before the Overmind achieves consciousness. 


	12. Chapter Seven: A New Push

CHAPTER SEVEN  
A NEW PUSH  
  
  
11:22 AM  
Directorate Military Camp, Hospital Designation  
Outskirts of Boralis, Braxis  
  
JESSE WAS A ROCK (OR AT LEAST HE FELT LIKE ONE). Despite the drugs he had taken, he had been unable to really sleep through the night. He didn't remember much that happened between the times she injected him with the painkillers and when their effects started to fade away. He was sure, however, that he didn't sleep for more than an hour or so. Surely he had spent most of his time awake in a delirious state, but nonetheless, his concern for his friends and men remained. There was one thing that he clearly remembered, though – a dream. He wasn't quite sure where he was or who was there with him, but he could tell there weren't many. Including himself, they were all suited in white combat armor, those men were. They were strapped into familiar seats – Ah, that's right; they were the seats of the massive personnel carrier he had traveled in before and after entering cold-sleep on his way to the Koprulu sector. Why he was there remained a mystery to him, and despite his best efforts, he couldn't entice his fellows to speak to him. Miguel wasn't anywhere to be seen. Neither were Paul or Marlon or any of the familiar faces of his squad. There was a banging coming from the hulls as if the ship were being struck by a forceful impact. Jesse woke up.  
  
The small room he was in was blue. He was resting in a soft bed that held only one, and his belongings weren't there. He was in a baggy white shirt of some sort, and he didn't have any pants on. There was a doorway to his left, but no door. The temperature in the room was ideal, and he was comfortable. And he was tired.  
  
It was quiet – almost silent – for the next hour. Jesse was content to lay in bed and rest, but he still couldn't sleep. The effects of the medicine wore off quickly, and soon he could feel his legs again – the broken leg once again whole and functioning properly. He wondered what had happened at Boralis, but there didn't seem to be any staff in the area, and he wasn't just about to get up. He was anxious for the next minute or two, until a nurse came in. It wasn't that girl who had fixed his leg that night.  
  
"Excuse me," Jesse began. "Can I ask about the siege?"  
  
"You need your rest, young man. I don't want to bog down your mind with that bother." She replied.  
  
"Please."  
  
"Don't worry. Everything's fine. Just rest. Can I get you anything?"  
  
"Somebody competent that'll tend to a patient's questions, maybe?"  
  
"Are you hungry or thirsty? If you need to use the washroom, I can assist you down the hall."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
She left in a hurry. Jesse finally fell asleep.  
  
Some hours later, a lively and cheerful trio waltzed into Jesse's room just moments after he awoke. The three lined up in front of him and chuckled.  
  
"Hey sexy," Marlon joked. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"  
  
"Oh man! You guys are okay…" Jesse shot up from under the blankets. Miguel stared awkwardly at his boxer shorts. "Oh." Jesse pulled the covers back over his legs. "Hmm, what happened?"  
  
Marlon winked at Paul. "It was a disaster. Our entire squad got torn apart at the gates. We thought we had them outplayed, but it's like they totally expected us. Tanks, Planes, Artillery… They hit us like a brick wall."  
  
Jesse's eyes opened to the size of apples (and Jesse loved apples). He was speechless until Marlon laughed.  
  
"What I'm trying to say is that we kicked their ass, sir!"  
  
Jesse breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't ever do that again, Marlon. So what's the report? I mean, do you know the outcome of the battle?"  
  
"We lost a few," Miguel started. "But I had these freeloaders under control. The squads split in the city, but almost everyone's reported back unhurt. I've never even heard the names of the guys we lost, so we'll be fine. The city's ours, and I guess every other major city on this world has been done in too. Basically, it's all good." A smile materialized on his face.  
  
"Wow. We've done it. You guys have done it."  
  
"It's only the beginning, Jesse." Miguel warned.  
  
"I know. We've still got a long way to go."  
  
Paul jumped in. "And any one of us could die at any time. Who the hell are we fighting here? I volunteered for this mission because I wanted to fight the Zerg and save lives, not kill other people. And here I am, shooting down people who might even be related to a relative of mine. I can't stand it." He left the room.  
  
"What's up with him?" Jesse inquired.  
  
"They stormed Caran, a smaller city to the south. Paul's brother was one of the men who died in the attack." Miguel continued as Marlon only listened.  
  
"Oh…"  
  
"He'll come around. It's not like the Dominion's just going to submit to us. We've got to fight them too. We've got to fight them all. Maybe even the Protoss again."  
  
"Let's talk about something else."  
  
"How's your leg?"  
  
"It feels good. She did a good job on it."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The girl… Didn't catch her name."  
  
"Oh, I get it."  
  
"No, it's nothing."  
  
"Don't do it, Jesse."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about. Don't go after her like she's gonna be your girlfriend."  
  
"I'll do as I please."  
  
"And then what? She doesn't even work our squad, does she?"  
  
"I've never seen her before."  
  
"There you go. She'll be off far away, and each time we fight, you'll be worrying about her. That is, if you can even win her over. And God knows what you'll go through trying."  
  
"I hate being here alone. You guys are my only friends out here. Besides, I can transfer her. I got Marlon and Paul in with us, didn't I?"  
  
"It's war, not a dating service. Please, Jesse, stay away from her."  
  
"We'll see."  
  
Miguel shook his head. "When are they letting you go?"  
  
"I'll be out tonight. I'm a little tired, and they can't let me out with the drugs in my system."  
  
"What drugs did they give ya?"  
  
"Not sure, but it took away all the pain."  
  
"I see…"  
  
"So you did okay without me?"  
  
"Just fine."  
  
"You don't know what it was like for me, worrying to hell about you guys. But then again, you were the ones who had your lives in danger."  
  
"Now, now. We all know how to fight. We're from Earth, 'member?"  
  
Jesse chuckled. "Of course, old friend."  
  
"You're tired. Maybe we should let you sleep again."  
  
"Oh, don't leave on my account."  
  
"Heh, we'll check back later. What time are you getting out?"  
  
"Eight."  
  
"We'll be here at eight, then. There's no word about leaving the planet yet."  
  
"You would think the Directorate would already have planned this."  
  
"Maybe they have."   
  
Marlon and Miguel said goodbye, and promised to return at eight to escort Jesse back to the barracks.  
  
  
  
  
  
In the hall, Miguel caught wind of Lieutenant Duran, Captain Rikter, and a female medic in conversation inside a storage room.  
  
"How long has this been going on?" Rikter demanded.  
  
"We're not sure, but like, a substantial amount has been taken since base was set up upon arrival." The medic spoke.  
  
"Like, um, totally, like, how much?" Duran mocked the medic.  
  
"Quite a bit, sir. If this has been going on since we came here, I could say like, about fifty milligrams a day."  
  
"That's enough to be considered abuse." Rikter looked at Duran suspiciously.  
  
"Whoa, more than enough, sir. Like, if this is only one person, I'd say he's using it to 'get high'".  
  
"We're strict about the trafficking of stim among soldiers. We're going to have to investigate this room before we pack up. Lieutenant, get a forensics team in here now."  
  
"As you wish." Duran got on a comm. Device.  
  
"It wasn't broken into. It's like the person totally had access to it." The medic squeaked.  
  
"Thank you. I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."  
  
"Okay, sir." The medic exited.  
  
"I need my men to use stims in battle. What if the abuser is already high and takes the stim? He'll O.D. Then he'll die. Son of a bitch!" Rikter balled his fists.  
  
Duran noticed Miguel and Marlon standing in the hall and made eye contact. The two soldiers kept moving.  
  
  
  
  
7:00 PM  
Private Conference Room  
UED Flagship Aleksander  
  
"Coffee." Vice-Admiral Alexei Stukov told the serving man.  
  
"And you, Admiral?" The serving man inquired.  
  
"I'll have nothing." Admiral Gerard DuGalle didn't even look at the man as he read over some notes on the screen. The server exited. "You know, Alexei," he softly said across the table, "there is a pattern here."  
  
"What do you mean?" Alexei leaned forward.  
  
"Look at how the Dominion transports supplies. You'll notice that they leave a large area of unguarded space between the two closest planets every seventy-two hours. If we sent an advance fleet through the gap, we would be able to gain control of several important space stations."  
  
"What good are they?"  
  
"They're communications an docking stations."  
  
"I see. How long is the gap open?"  
  
"Thirty to forty minutes."  
  
"If we prepared ahead of time we could get several hundred warships in without being spotted."  
  
"The Dylarian shipyards should be our first objective. We'll be able to neutralize all nearby fleets as well as gain a docking ground for our navy, since twenty minutes won't be enough time for them to return to the main body of the fleet."  
  
"Thirty, Gerard."  
  
"No, twenty. We have to assume they can get reinforcements to the area faster than we've seen."  
  
"Clever."  
  
"What do you suggest?" Gerard looked at Alexei as a teacher would to a student.  
  
"We move into the shipyards at the very next opening. How long do we have?"  
  
"The siege line will gap in seventeen standard hours."  
  
"I'll prepare a force, then. I believe Captain Rikter should be left in charge of the assault."  
  
"He'll do nicely. Computer, open a frequency to Boralis, Braxis." Gerard paused momentarily. "I also want to speak to this Lieutenant Duran person."  
  
"The new guy?" Alexei looked at Gerard with intrigue.  
  
"I don't know how you could have agreed to recruit a traitor."  
  
"Give him a chance, Gerard. He is responsible for the success of the second attack on Boralis, and I believe he is going to be quite useful to our cause."  
  
Gerard couldn't think of anything to say in return.  
  
  
  
  
"Receiving incoming transmission." Noreen was visible on the far right monitor, linking Rikter to the UED video conference. The three other screens in the main console room of the Fortune 5 command center lit up with three familiar faces – on the left was Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov, then Lieutenant Samir Duran, and Admiral Gerard DuGalle next to the young adjutant.   
  
Gerard spoke first. "Ah, captain. It's good to finally see your face again. I would like to commend you for your flawless sortie upon Braxis. I am pleased that we were able to begin our invasion with such a decisive victory."  
  
"Many thanks, Admiral." Rikter could have eaten himself up.  
  
Duran didn't look the part, but he was a little troubled. "I won Boralis for them. Not Rikter. I can see that there are going to be a few problems". He thought.  
  
Alexei piped up. "Yes, excellent work your assault – You as well, Lieutenant. The planet is secured, thus, it has become time to move onto the second phase of our mission."  
  
"Our tac teams," began Gerard, "have ascertained the location of the Dylarian Shipyards, a vital Dominion trade and docking center. This outpost contains a large fleet of Dominion battleships in dry dock, and will be important to us. In order to ensure that our victories so far are not threatened, we will need to take control of this outpost and commandeer the silent fleet." He paused. "Generally, the Dominion siege line, a heavy route for goods trafficking, gaps for thirty to forty minutes every seventy two hours. During this time, we will have absolute and unnoticed access to the inner half of Mengsk's empire. It will be up to you, Captain, to assemble a force capable of getting through the gap without being seen and overtaking the ship yards."  
  
"With all due respect, sir, it's only going to be possible to get between a few hundred to a thousand stealth fighters through in that period of time. It's not going to be a force large enough to repel an attack, even before any casualties we'll encounter." Rikter warned.  
  
"Nonsense, Captain. As you know, the ships in dry dock can be used to your will. That is why you will bring a company of pilots with you, so you can launch the captured warships into battle. And I would suggest avoiding a full-frontal assault. Instead, perhaps try a simple attack – capturing vital locations of the shipyards with targeted infantry advances."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"When the Dominion reinforcements arrive, fend them off, and spend the night at the shipyards. The fleet will fight through the siege line once the threat has been eliminated, and we will proceed with our mission."  
  
"Very well, Admiral. How much time do I have?"  
  
"The gap occurs in less than seventeen standard hours."  
  
"Consider it done."  
  
"Gentlemen," Duran began without addressing rank. "I advise that you proceed with caution. The Dominion can typically reinforce its outlying stations within sixteen standard hours, and we wouldn't want any problems."  
  
"Ah, the turncoat." DuGalle insulted the Lieutenant. "I suggest that you pay keen attention to rank when addressing the Captain and I. Understood?"  
  
"Of course, Admiral." Duran logged off. Rikter would have smiled if it were professional to do so.  
  
"Heh heh, you're beginning to show your age Gerard. Give the boy a break, he just tipped us off." Alexei said.  
  
"That may be so, Alexei, but you know me well enough to know that I cannot abide a traitor."  
  
"All too well, Gerard."  
  
"Captain, your briefing is complete. Fight for the Directorate, and fight for Humanity. All other priorities are secondary to victory. Move out."  
  
Rikter logged off and turned away. "Noreen," he said before walking. "What's my allowance?"  
  
"Captain, you have been given control of twenty-five personnel carriers and one-thousand-four-hundred-fifty-two fighter planes. You have been assigned a special militia of two-hundred for the covert attack, and have been advised not to reinforce your numbers with standard infantry. You have also been given command of one-thousand special task pilots, twenty-three of which are certified to command a battlecruiser."  
  
"Sufficient."  
  
"Agreed. Should I assemble your task force for you?"  
  
"No, I'll contact them personally. But first I'm going to sleep. Wake me up in five hours."  
  
"Are you sure, sir?"  
  
"If twelve hours is enough to be called a day, then twelve hours is enough to play a quick game of star siege."  
  
"Goodnight, Captain."  
  
  
  
  
February 21, 10:58 AM  
UED Naval Carrier Arnosis  
  
And so the massive thrusters propelled the wraith fighter units into space. The massive naval carrier didn't even shake as several tens of the wraiths jumped from its iron breast each minute. Once in flight, the planes circled around the carrier in wait as the remainder of the fleet launched and joined the orbital path. Soon enough, nearly one thousand vessels had lifted off, and Rikter ordered them into formation.  
  
"Alright, boys and girls. You were all briefed earlier on, so you know the drill. You've got just under an hour until the siege line gaps, which should give you enough time to make it to the border of the range of their sensors and wait for the opening. I'll remind you again that nobody is to move within sight of the siege line. If they notice you, they'll respond, and the mission will be lost. This is not a shoot 'em up mission. You do not fire any missiles at enemy vessels until you have been shot at. And you do not engage the enemy until your squadron commander has given the order. Your primary objective is to get to the shipyards. Your secondary objective is to not be noticed until you've launched the melee attack and start rounding up ships. I expect both objectives to be accomplished without any problems or delays. Failure is not an option. The fleet will have trouble puncturing the siege line with the threat of reinforcements from the other side, and once we've done this, the Dominion isn't going to let it happen again. You get in, do the deed, and hold off the attack until the fleet can puncture the borders. Do not exceed light speed! Good luck, and move out. Command of the mission is now yours, Alpha Prime."  
  
"You've got it, sir. We'll do it the right way." The pilot steered his ship out of the elliptical formation and out in front. "You heard the Captain, gentlepeople. No screw-ups, and no sex in the cockpit. Follow me, standard movement formation. Role."  
  
Alpha Prime gently fit himself into the formation of hundreds of quick moving ships as the small fleet detachment went onward. They flew with a steady hand and clear mind for close to a minute before the silence was broken.  
  
"So, " one of the pilots spoke out. "Any good jokes?"  
  
"Two guys are sitting in a bar. Nothing happens, until one of them orders a drink." Another replied.  
  
"I don't get it."  
  
"Then you're an idiot."  
  
"Careful, now."  
  
"So guys, what are the chances of me getting laid before we get to the siege line?" A female pilot joked.  
  
"I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe you should fly over here, and we'll get out my special calculator." One of the male pilots suggested.  
  
"Baby, do you have a mirror in your pants? 'Cause I can see myself in them!" Another shot out.  
  
Everybody laughed, even though they had all heard it before. The comms filled with quiet chatter and cute jokes for the next ten minutes. The pilots slowly quieted down as they got closer to the mission area.  
  
"Five minutes." Alpha Prime warned. "Get ready."  
  
It didn't seem like long until the wraith pilots reached the edge of the siege line. Alpha Prime spoke up. "Okee dokee. Any questions?"  
  
"No, sir."  
  
"Then we'll wait for the line to gap. When we advance, you move into stealth mode and rocket your ass past the bitches as fast as you can go."  
  
"How do we know when it gaps?"  
  
"I've sent two scouts ahead. They'll warn us when they see the hole."  
  
"Okay."  
  
The fleet waited silently, slowly trying to observe what was going on. Those in the front strained their eyes, but couldn't even really see the individual units in the siege line. They waited like blind kittens.  
  
About forty minutes later, the first scout contacted Alpha Prime. "Okay, Alpha Prime. The mole is running, and the turkey's stuffed. Silver betty's witch is green, and the frog didn't eat lunch. Get moving now."  
  
"All units stay in formation. Full speed advance to 24.27.24. Go!"  
  
Those massive thrusters went to full power, and they rocketed their host planes forward at amazing speeds. "Ye-e-e-e-e-e-e-haw!" For the Directorate pilots, the game was beginning. 


	13. Chapter Eight: Story of a Nobody

CHAPTER EIGHT  
STORY OF A NOBODY  
  
  
PAUL WAS SPREAD OUT ON THE BED, and not looking too well. At certain times, people tended to have a minor mental breakdown after intense combat and seeing a good amount of bloodshed. Yet, Paul's problem wasn't the fighting or the death.   
  
Everyone died eventually, and how it happened never seemed to matter to him. For Paul, the important aspects of death were who died, and when it happened. His brother had been killed – Hit with a barrage of bullets in the shoulder and crushed by an allied tank oblivious to what had been happening. His one true connection with sanity seemed to be cut that day.  
  
Life was complicated. Paul didn't pretend to understand what was going on in the minds of the divine. He didn't pretend to know what was going to happen, or even try to understand what had already happened. He always had trouble believing in God; Heaven and Hell; Jesus Christ. As a little runt, his parents followed a small movement of faithful Christians (religion had been banned on Earth in the early era of space travel). It never amounted to much, nor did it have an impact on the government, but it did offer him a vast education of the ancient religion. Paul learned what Christianity was, what it meant to be a 'Christian', and many other things. He enjoyed the mathematics as a youngster (he wasn't great in them though), and excelled in the arts. He could act, draw, sing, and more. He became known as the "Jack of All Trades But Guru of None". He liked the title. He was never the most popular guy in school, but he was far from being unpopular. He was a great guy, but his only setback was that he never really met the right people – most of his friends tended to drag him down a lot of the time.  
  
Where Paul grew up, things were average. His home was average, as was his school, his family's financial status, and his life. He grew up in a quiet and pretty well-to-do neighborhood, but there were no secondary schools (seventh grade and higher), so when he entered seventh grade, things changed. The next neighborhood over was a pretty poor one. A person could definitely tell where the border was – you had nice homes on the left side of the street, and across the road, the homes were only what could be called "not good". The closest school, and really the only one that would accept him, was the one in this poor area. So he went.  
  
It didn't take long for him to understand the ways of this place. It wasn't about money or strength anymore, but rather whom you knew and how you acted. Nobody in this place was them self. In an attempt to appear "cooler" or "better" than they really were, they changed their personalities when in public in a rancid attempt to get "higher up". It was all a big hierarchy of coolness, and Paul started right at the bottom. He was a nice guy, and learned to effectively change his looks and manipulate those who were higher up than him. He got to the very top of the middle of the ladder within six months of school, and everybody knew him (though not everyone was his friend). His Christian values were quick to be hidden, for should he show them, he would be branded a weakling and fall to the bottom again.  
  
One of the peculiar things about this new place was the focus on sexual relations, even for younger people. Paul had grown up thinking that sex before marriage was, thought not wrong, not entirely right, and since he didn't think about it much, he figured that it would be best for him not to get into anything until he found the right person. By the end of seventh grade, he realized that even being in the 'middle' of the hierarchy was unacceptable, and he learned that doing what everyone was calling "screwing" was the only way for him to get into the top section. He never really cared about girls before this, nor did he even really ever have a girlfriend. It was something he didn't really consider.  
  
It went on like this until the summer after eighth grade. Paul had still retained his virginity, and didn't seem to care much about it. Then he met a girl that shared his interests and thoughts, and over the two-month break, they really got to know each other. By the beginning of ninth grade, Paul and the girl called Stacy had effectively been made known as an item. Midway through the first month of the year, they had sex for the first time (thought it is possible that they were both only semi-willing to do it, and only because of the popularity hierarchy). Both she and Paul were accepted into the "top group" by the start of the following week.  
  
As a youngster, Paul enjoyed the sciences. He studied everything about biology, physics, and chemistry. He advanced through the science levels quickly, and soon had developed a love for technology and space travel. He read every magazine or book that contained the word "spaceship", and wrote several small science fiction novels. One was published when he was fourteen years old, but it never really took off in the marketing world, and his writing career didn't endure. The failure wasn't on his part, but rather on the part of those marketing his novel. Paul was, for lack of a better description, one of the best writers on the planet, regardless of age. After his first sexual relation, Paul began to include more mature and intimate content into his novels, which attracted more people of an older age. Still, his career backfired.  
  
He continued to study sciences and space travel. During the tenth grade, when he was fifteen, he wrote a thesis about space travel and technology beyond Earth's atmosphere, and got his first taste of philosophy. It contained many radical and publicly unacceptable accusations and statements, and thus, it was published under a fake name and only three people ever knew he wrote it – himself, his girlfriend, and the publisher. It became one of the most popular written documents about space and philosophy on the planet.  
  
He grew to love his girlfriend over anything else. He put her before school, his parents, and everything else. Near the end of tenth grade, 'growing pains' and added responsibility began to separate the two of them. Paul made several attempts to get closer to her again, but it didn't work, partly due to the fact that she never seemed to contribute anything to the cause. By the end of the year, they stopped having sex and almost stopped talking all together, though to this day, they have never officially broken up. The last time they saw each other, they kissed (which was something they hadn't done in a while), and left each other very happily and feeling all fuzzy inside, even thought neither of them really knew it would be there last visit (Stacy suspected it however). Paul put Stacy behind him, but he never really seemed to get over her. Fortunately, he didn't slave over her loss, and as I've already told you, he put her behind him.  
  
When their relationship started to deteriorate, Paul changed drastically. He became more quiet and reserved. He often kept to himself, and declined invitations to parties or group get-togethers. He gave up on science and school all together, and turned to philosophy and doing what he called "searching for the truth", which essentially was searching for an answer to the bigger picture or for God. For the rest of tenth grade he all but forgot school, rarely showing up, and not trying to learn when he did (though he got back into action by the eleventh grade).  
  
He developed a strange belief that the Human race was simply a race in its infancy that had not yet learned to fully use the mind or body. He believed that Humans had many inert abilities that they were at this time unaware of. He theorized that by combining the mind and body instead of simply using them separately, one could achieve extremely high, and almost dangerous, levels of sentiency and physical strength, even if they did not fully understand how to use their natural properties. He worked on trying to combine his mind and body for several years. This included intense physical training and mental repetitions. Eventually, he calculated a formula to test these levels, and used it on himself before anything else. He inserted this strange reactive fluid into his bloodstream, and hooked himself onto a home made testing machine to measure the effects. He began the process of 'charging up' (using concentration to bring the body and mind to their top achievable levels, and then combining them). On average, a Human could maintain a level existence that was measured on Paul's own scale as roughly sixty. Through concentration, he brought his own level of existence over an incredible one thousand, but maintained it for less than a few seconds (and it wasn't just the reaction of the machine, he did feel the difference, proving to himself that it was possible). He soon discovered that the key emotion to the Human was anger, and that one could manipulate anger to feed the mind and body. Paul purposely wrecked his life for the next three weeks, causing many unfortunate things to happen to him. He combined these emotions with the memories of his girlfriend, and after running through the charge-up process for almost seven hours, he achieved an existence level of over two-hundred-thousand. He could feel an undeniable and indescribable difference in himself, and he loved the power. He effortlessly punched a hole through his own wall, and didn't even cause himself harm. For the next thirty seconds, he felt the new power coursing through his body, but then it disappeared. As a primitive race, Humanity could not sustain a physical level that high, and as a natural reflex to save Paul's own life, his body shut down in full for half a second. When he regained control, the power was gone, and he was so physically damaged that he entered the hospital, where doctors were unable to classify what had happened to him. He failed to reach anything near that level ever again. The damage he suffered was mostly temporary, but Paul was never able to remember what had happened very clearly, and he simply made up the story that he smashed the hole in the wall with a hammer while sleepwalking.  
  
He never fully believed in a God, but he did search for one for many years. He wrote many books under different names to freely express his theories and beliefs. He once read a line written in the early ages before space travel, and it intrigued him: "I might pick up a rock, and it will say underneath, 'Made by God'". After a long battle of several years with himself over the subject, he wrote his final book entitled "Melancholy" – a biography of his own life. He revealed in it that he was responsible for the previous books and statements that had roused many people worldwide to rise up against them, and finally gave them a target. He didn't care anymore. Through all his searching, he came to realize that death was natural, and if it was going to happen to him, best get the painful process over with quickly by assasination. He concluded the immense book in the following way:  
  
Watch me. Watch me live and die. This is a world we have been born into, and like it or not, we shall die in it. While we are alive, perhaps it is best to marvel at its complicated and hidden beauty. After all, we must do something while we are in this strange place. I am not afraid of death. I fear only what I might face where I go, and oddly enough, what I will miss while I am gone.  
  
There is a higher power. Let me make it clear that 'God' does not always mean good. It can be a sentience beyond what we can comprehend, good or bad. Anything that rules the universe or universes if there happens to be more than one can be called God. There is a God. He, or rather it, set in motion what we have today. Nothing can come from nothing, so he has to have created something for anything to be. What happens now is beyond our control. God launches our existence, and we will not see or meet it until we die and leave this physical realm. Only those who have died can truly understand what God is – if he is good or bad, if there is a heaven or a hell – but rest assured that we all will be with him. For your sake, you had better hope he is good, because if we're going to be with him, we're spending all eternity there. Though I think that 'you' yourself will not meet him. Your mind will be dead, and your memories of this odd world gone. It is just your soul that goes to be with him. And your soul is the eternal comfort or pain that you will feel.  
  
God will not interfere with this world. It is ours, and we shall do with it as is needed. But don't think that he won't hesitate to prove to you that it was in the beginning made by him. If you don't think I have a solid argument on my theory, perhaps you should re-read this book. My entire life is my argument. And who knows? One day, I might pick up a rock, and it will say underneath, "Made by God".  
  
-Paul Blavoy  
  
Soon after writing the book, Paul changed his last name to "Blivy", regretting what he had done by revealing himself, and he moved to Mars without a word of goodbye to his family or friends. He disappeared in the crowds, and joined the Directorate military. It was about colonial defense and greater physical training in the beginning, but it soon grew to be much more than that. When he learned that the liberation of the Koprulu sector was starting, Paul volunteered for the mission with hopes of encountering alien life and being able to finally reprove to himself everything that he had fought so hard to understand during his 'dark period' of fifteen to twenty-five. That he was above and beyond any others.  
  
Three years since what he calls his most prosperous yet most regrettable (and what others would call a waste of his life) years, Paul stands in the same position once again. His brother was the only person who he kept in contact with since he left Earth. Now that he has been lost, what the future holds for the man is uncertain, as is what he may do to himself in the confusion of it all.  
  
"You're not going either, huh?" Jesse looked down at Paul from beside his bed.  
  
"Nah. I don't feel so well." Paul replied, trying to look calm and cool.  
  
"Hey, I forgot to mention it, but man, I'm really, really sorry about what happened. I mean, if there's anything I can do—"  
  
"Shit happens."  
  
Jesse paused. "I guess you're right."  
  
Miguel and Marlon were dressed in combat armor and were making the final preparations, as were the other men in the barracks.  
  
"It's combat training, Jesse, you love this stuff. Fight the Zerg on the holodeck, man. You sure you're not going to come?" Miguel asked for the final time.  
  
"Nope. I've got to do something that's really important to me." Jesse shot back, almost annoyed.  
  
"What is it you're doing, anyway?"  
  
"I'm going to find her."  
  
"Oh God."  
  
"If there's one thing I don't need, it's you trying to stop this. Just let me do it. Please, Miguel, my friend."  
  
"Jesse, I'm not going to get in your way. But I'm warning you, no, I'm begging you to forget it."  
  
"This isn't something I can just forget, Miguel. It's much, much more."  
  
"Jesse…" Miguel stopped and sighed. "Hope you find her."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Remember to file an absence, you two."  
  
"I will." Jesse hurried them away.  
  
Jesse and Paul were the only two left in the barracks a few minutes later. Jesse had his outdoor environmental suit on, and Paul was in socks and pajamas, laying on the bed still.  
  
"Hey, Paul. I know you're not too well off right now, so I can file your absence for you, seeing as how I'm going anyhow."  
  
"I can file it myself."  
  
"Fine." Jesse could have used his power in rank to give Paul a hard time, but after all, he had just lost his brother in battle, and Paul was his friend. "You need anything?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Be back later."  
  
"'Kay."  
  
Jesse finished dressing for the cold outdoors of Boralis, shut off the lamp above his bed, and left, slamming the door behind him. Paul rolled off the side of the bed and brought himself to his feet slowly. He kept a careless hunched back as he walked across the room, stopping at the door, and locking it as fully as any door could be locked. He mumbled a little as he went, but it was mostly just sounds that didn't form real words. He looked around the barracks, ensuring that he really was the very last person inside. He checked from room to room quite meticulously.  
  
"My God." Paul said slowly, almost as if he were breathing the words. "You've let me turn into this. Guess I was right about you all along, eh, old pal?" The young man walked lazily back to his bed, where he sat down on the hard surface and placed his face in his hands. He scratched the hairline on his forehead, and straightened his back. As he leaned to the right, he slid open the drawer of his small personal storage unit (which was kind of like a miniature dresser) and shuffled his hand through the things in it. He felt a lighter, and then a few crumpled balls of paper, and then a case of cigarettes. He kept moving his hand around in the drawer (but he didn't look inside), until he felt in his palm a small vile no larger than his own thumb. He pulled it out, and inside was a murky liquid. He set it on the dresser.  
  
"I wonder how long this is going to go on?" Paul slowly reached back into the drawer. After his hand explored the area momentarily, it emerged, and wrapped inside it was a small needle. He brought the needle level with his eyes, examined it as if he suspected it may have been tampered with, and then he slid the plastic cover off of the tip. He set the needle down on the dresser, and picked up the vile again. He popped the cap off, and the content of the container splashed around a bit, a drop of it getting on his hand. It was surprisingly warm, almost hot. "I wonder how they get it to keep its temperature?" Paul mumbled as he picked up the needle. He dipped the metallic tip into the liquid, filled the syringe, and set the vile back into the dresser. He pulled another vile out of his pajamas. This liquid inside was lighter and less cloudy. He mixed this in with the liquid already in the needle.  
  
"Stim and fucking Ex. Here's to… health and good fortune. Bitch." The soldier looked for a good fat vein in the bend of his arm, and then he slid the needle in, pressing down on the top as the liquid slowly oozed into his bloodstream. Almost seconds later, Paul felt a boost in energy. He could see more clearly, hear better, and even smell and taste his surroundings a little better. A surge of strength went through his body, and he stood up, dropping the needle on the floor. Then he fell back onto his bed and went into a deep sleep.  
  
  
  
  
The Koprulu sector heated up again. After the death of the original Overmind, the remaining four Terran worlds were left largely untouched, as the Zerg concentrated their efforts on the war with the Protoss. Earth had a way of starting a few problems, though.  
  
The United Earth Directorate located upon the infested Confederate world of Tarsonis what came to be known as a "PSI Disruptor". It had the ability to disrupt the Zerg communications, therefore severing their contacts to their leaders and disallowing them to converse to each other from distances further than the extent of their vision. The usefulness of the device was questioned by both Lieutenant Samir Duran and Admiral Gerard DuGalle, who agreed that since the true nature of the Directorate assault was to enslave the Overmind and use the Zerg against themselves, it could be dangerous to keep the device around for fear of it falling into the wrong hands (such as those of Arcturus Mengsk). Vice-Admiral Alexei Stukov, however, regarded the destruction of the device to be foolhardy, since it would initiate a grand advantage over the Zerg before the Overmind could actually be enslaved. His protests amounted to nil, and the Admiral gave Duran orders to destroy it. Alexei did not want such a valuable machine to be jeopardized by Duran's inexperienced hands, so he took command of the mission himself in order to ensure that the device was properly taken care of.  
  
It didn't take the Directorate long to pinpoint the exact location of the PSI disruptor. The mission became difficult, however, when the machine was found to be surrounded entirely by several Zerg hives (who were totally unaware of it even being there). It was here that the Directorate had its first taste of combat against the Zerg, and they dealt with it impressively. Though Jesse and his squad members were nowhere in the area, they would encounter the radical alien species soon enough. They had no idea that the meeting with these fearsome foes would eventually trigger a string of horrifying and painful events unrivalled by any previous fight in their lives.  
  
On Braxis, things changed for the better. Miguel and Marlon bonded, slowly learning more and more about each other and their lives. They became great friends, and the brute's true personality showed through. Apparently, Marlon's life was a complicated one, filled with many surprising and interesting tales – but that's another story.   
  
Paul began to keep to himself more often, now. Once a team player, he fought away from his friends, and spent less time with them during resting periods. It wasn't because he didn't want to see them. He just needed to be alone, and he enjoyed the constant privacy, and the ability to fight without having to know that the soldier next to him was one of his closest relations.   
  
When Jesse went searching for the girl he had suddenly developed an unexplainable desire and obsession for, he found her. 23-year old Kelly Sabel quickly fell for Jesse, transferred to squadron C, and bonded closely with her man. It became a relationship supported, but looked down upon, by the other members of his squad. The two lovers, with an unexplainably strong attraction to each other, never parted sight (except at night, since males and females were forced to sleep in separate barracks by Directorate policy).   
  
Shortly after Kelly's transfer, the Directorate had need for additional soldiers at the front, and wished to deploy seasoned armies in the stead of fresh meat. Several garrisons were called in, including Jesse's. By the second month of the invasion, the Directorate had conscripted over one million colonial Dominion soldiers and several thousand Confederate loyalists, had captured three of the remaining four Terran worlds (leaving only the capital world of Korhal at large), and had liberated five of the nine infested ones. In total, over eighteen million Directorate men and women saw combat in the first month, with countless more in reserve. Slowly, hopes of the Dominion being able to repel the incredible invasion dwindled, and more and more Terran citizens abandoned their government for this radical new idea of being ruled by the United Earth Directorate, a government centered on a world that was innumerable miles away.  
  
So ends the beginning of the invasion. Thus far, the Directorate has had nothing short of success in its attacks on the Dominion worlds, but how well these men and women from Earth will fare against the monstrosities called Zerg upon their own worlds remains unknown. The greater battles and a true fight for survival come next.  
  
"It's all just been a game so far. Do you really think we can win, Jesse?" Kelly looked deeply into Jesse's eyes.  
  
He looked back into hers. "I guess time is the only true answer to any of it." He wasn't very encouraging in his response. 


	14. Chapter Nine: A Dead World

CHAPTER NINE  
A DEAD WORLD  
  
  
March 27, 9:30 AM  
UED Flagship Aleksander  
Low orbit over Dominion throne world of Korhal  
  
"How pleasant." Rikter was aboard the Aleksander looking out at the desolate and ruined landscapes of the Dominion throne world. He saw endless dunes of sand in fields that seemed to stretch on forever. Cliffs of red chalk hid parts of the land from his view, and his sight was occupied by an unusually large amount of debris and waste. The area below him had been a city a long time ago, before the great disaster brought on by the Confederacy many years ago.  
  
The planet had been a hotbed for anti-Confederate sediments for years when it began to pose as the threat of the Confederacy, the old Terran government. A massive planetary barrage of missiles was launched from Tarsonis to Korhal with intent to destroy. Warnings had seemed to do little for the rebellions. Millions were killed. The great armies were torn apart, and entire cities were erased from the world. The soil and vegetation died in the holocaust of the attack, leaving Korhal nothing but a wasteland. Ironically, this disabled planet was what finally launched the rebellion that would eventually defeat the Confederacy. That successful rebellion's leader, Arcturus Mengsk, is the man who currently sits on the throne of Korhal. But that won't last much longer.  
  
The Directorate has been attacking the planet for two weeks now, dispatching massive fleets of warships and bombing all of the important cities to smithereens. Unlike the other worlds liberated by the UED, Korhal was irrelevant to the plans of the Earth-born government. It was already destroyed, and its cities were of no great value. So far, there had been no need to dispatch militias and teams of standing infantry. Augustgrad is the key to Korhal. It is a city of over four-million that serves as the primary trade and manufacturing center on the planet. Regardless of whether or not other cities continue to exist on Korhal, without Augustgrad, they will falter and their citizens will be forced to surrender to the power of Earth.  
  
Korhal is all the remains of the Dominion government. Augustgrad is the only major Korhalian city that so far remains unoccupied by the UED, and Emperor Mengsk has concentrated what is left of his planet's garrison to the city in a final stand to defend his empire. There are perhaps half a million armed men and women within Augustgrad who are ready to give their lives for their government and empire. They lie in wait not far from the Aleksander.   
  
It seems that the closer to Korhal the UED came, the harder it was to win the hearts of citizens. Amazingly, Korhal itself has stood strong, though no city has submitted without force of some kind. Augustgrad is too well protected to defeat by bombings, and the personal coffers of the Dominion are contained within the city's heart. Instead of destroying it, Admiral Gerard DuGalle has decided that it will be wisest to attack the city from the ground, with support from the air pending on the situation.  
  
He believes that the true power of the UED is in its fleet, and that the war with the Zerg will be far costlier than the war against the Dominion. So he has decided it best to conserve the air forces, regardless of how many losses the UED infantry ranks will suffer in the attack.  
  
"New men can be drafted into action, but fleets take years to construct. I cannot agree, Captain, with the Admiral's decision completely, but I see where he is coming from." Alexei spoke to Rikter from a few feet away. They were standing on the bridge, lights flashing from the keypads to their side. "Many men may die today, I won't deny it. But that is the price we will have to pay to win the city. There is no other way."  
  
"Air attacks have worked so far. We've lost less than a hundred ships in the last two weeks. Hell, you'll lose a hundred men in the first fucking seconds of this. You've got thousands of God damn war toys at your disposal, sir." Rikter didn't like the idea of so many men dying over one city, either.  
  
"Yes, thousands of warships. And millions of infantry, might I remind you. I don't look at lives statistically by choice, but it's all we can do. No matter how many men die, we will still have a strong core of militia when this is done. Militia is expendable."  
  
"Lives are not expendable!" Rikter burst out at Alexei.  
  
"Neither is the well being of Earth and the mission to defeat the Zerg! You must realize this, Captain. A few million soldiers will have died in this war against the Zerg by the time it ends. If we cannot win, there are a hundred billion Human beings who will eventually die, added to the ranks of those who the Zerg and Terrans have killed already. Look past one war. Look at entire civilizations and races!"  
  
"Heh, yeah, are you going to sacrifice these poor men against the Zerg when it comes time to fight them? I don't care what that fucking DuGalle says about this war, I know the Zerg are going to fight us on the ground too. See with your eyes! Half of these men are out here only to make a buck, and the other half have been forced into service because of a bad mistake they made five or ten years ago. And of all the criminals here, some of them were probably wrongly arrested."  
  
"Captain, might I remind you that you are to pay keen attention to RANK when referring to the Admiral, and that if you ever refer to him with a curse again, I will be left with no choice but to declare you a obstruction to our true mission, and have you arrested. Is this understood?"  
  
"Yes, sir." Rikter sputtered out.  
  
"The Zerg are a race that come with a terrible history. One filled with tales of entire civilizations being chewed to pieces and spit out like unwanted food. I doubt that, under the circumstances, we will skirmish with them as we have done with the Dominion colonists."  
  
"Understood."  
  
"Captain, the assault of Augustgrad will commence within eight standard hours. Full mission briefing is documented on your computer. You are to deploy your forces at 24.5.5, and you must take control of the first trench in the Dominion defense. Once you have accomplished this, reinforcements will join you under the command of Lieutenant Duran. Await further instructions once this primary objective is completed."  
  
"Sir, if I might ask, I need a calculation of how many men I've still got, and what I'm up against."  
  
"We don't have specialized intelligence of the situation, but we expect to encounter at least a half million units throughout the entirety of the siege. Specifics are documented in your briefing. You may go now, Captain."  
  
"Sir!" Rikter saluted, turned, and left for his chamber. "Let's go have some fun… eh." Rikter thought to himself as he left the bridge.  
  
  
  
  
12:30 PM  
Personal Chamber of Emperor Arcturus Mengsk  
Augustgrad, Korhal  
  
It was a shabby, old television. The static was in great amount, and the reception was poor. Sadly, too many were forced to view such disrespected pieces of entertainment. The Dominion had lost everything to this Earth Directorate. Who were they to come endless miles on a journey to cause such havoc? To destroy a man's empire was no game. To steal his people and use them against him was dishonor. To completely surround an Emperor in his very home and kill every single person he provided health and happiness to was inexcusable. And to attack him on his very doorstep was the ultimate embarrassment. Once, there were hundreds of TV stations. Now, there was one. Every other one had been shut down and destroyed. Media did not exist anymore. Instead, Earth was the media. The Directorate was the news reporter, its home planet the office, and its people the workers.  
  
The Dominion was not a colony. It was an empire. These people were not of the Human race. They were Terrans of the Terran Dominion. They were people whose ancestors fled a place that sought to kill them. They were the children of a bright new race. Now this race had been destroyed and assimilated into everything it was not. The UED was like the Zerg – ruthless, ignorant, and careless. Had the UED even thought of what the Dominion wanted? Had it even considered that the Dominion people were proud of who they were? Were blacks told to be white because they stuck out too much? No, they were not. Blacks were who they were – they were important people of their own, simply a part of a bigger picture. How was the Dominion not its own people, simply a part of the bigger picture?  
  
Arcturus himself stood at his window. He was in a small room, one with red carpet and golden lining. Cushioned green chairs were three in number. Then there were the interesting lighting fixtures on the roof. And the wooden walls, assembled in vertical strips, were lovely. It was a peaceful and quiet room. Arcturus was alone. He liked the loneliness of his room. He liked being separate. He liked how his generals would be commanding his troops on the battlefield, and he would watch, alone and undisturbed, from that giant window.  
  
March 28, 4: 02 PM  
"The Front"  
Outer Trench, South of Augustgrad  
  
The extend of the damnable prison-like hole in the ground which Jesse sat in was as follows: Seven feet deep and as many miles across, a mere six feet wide and littered with debris, ladders, and bodies. Freshly liberated from the Dominion outer guard, the stench of death still filled the trench. Jesse was still perspiring from the battle. His helmet had been removed and was resting on the sandy dirt beside him. His armor greatly enhanced his size, and the look of his head was rather small compared to what one would expect from such a giant soldier. Of course, Jesse was proportioned fairly perfectly, but with all the cumbersome armor he was wearing, he didn't look it.  
  
His bottom was placed on a small wooden box, which Jesse felt was eventually going to collapse under him. He wasn't as concerned about that, though, as he was the beautiful young girl sitting beside him.   
  
Kelly had grown very ill over the last couple of days, and Jesse had become increasingly worried for her. Her face, losing the golden-peachy complexion it once proudly boasted, now seemed to be green. Her hair fell into her eyes, covering her lovely features completely, and she had begun moaning and groaning a little over the last few hours. Jesse was unable to figure out what was wrong with her, and even after multiple visits by several different medical staff, nobody was able to determine what disorder Kelly seemed to be suffering from.  
  
"Has she fought a lot?" The doctor had asked Jesse mere minutes ago.  
  
"Yeah, she's been through a bunch of scraps with us." Jesse replied, thinking of the many close calls and wondering how he even let her run missions anymore without breaking down.  
  
The doctor consulted an associate of his, who was also unable to determine what her problem was. "Give it another few days and leave us alone," was basically what the doctors had all come up with.  
  
Jesse's heart burned. His girlfriend seemed to be in so much pain, and it hurt him too. He stood and kicked the wooden box away, and sat closer beside her. Her helmet was also detached. When he slid an arm around her and kissed her on the forehead, she looked up at him, seeming even worse than before. Jesse almost startled at how badly she appeared.  
  
"It's getting worse…" Kelly moaned.   
  
Jesse leaned his head against hers and nuzzled his nose against her cheek. "What's wrong with you? What the hell is it?" He mumbled.  
  
"Ever had one of those dreams where you can fly?"  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
"And then if you try to walk, you can't go very fast, and if you run, you don't move anywhere?"  
  
"Sort of."  
  
"And you feel like there's no gravity?"  
  
"Ahuh."  
  
"That's how I feel. Light and lost."  
  
Jesse found this odd. The gravity on Korhal was stronger than that of Earth. "It's all going to be better soon. I'm taking care of you, and I won't rest until you're good as new."  
  
"I love you, Jesse."  
  
"Love ya too, Kelly." They sat in silence for the next little while. Jesse wondered if what she had was contagious, but he didn't really care if it was. He wouldn't let go of her. The rest of the day saw no action. No fighting. It was silent. Men sat and stared in silence, completely oblivious to what was happening in the trenches ahead.  
  
By nightfall, Jesse and Kelly fell asleep in each other's arms, paying little attention to the stench of the pieces of rotting flesh in the trench.  
  
  
  
  
Jesse was there again. He was strapped into the seat of the massive UED infantry transporter he had come here on. He knew he was dreaming, but he didn't want to wake. He looked around, but it was too blurry to really see anything. He could make out the outlines of a few other soldiers, all strapped into their designated seats, but couldn't tell who they were. When his vision finally cleared a little, Jesse did not recognize any of the faces around him. The seats beside him were empty. To his right is where Miguel had been on the way to the Koprulu sector, and should have been right now. The scene was the same as the first time he had dreamed this dream, back on Braxis, after he had been hospitalized and operated on by Kelly. There was a sudden thud, and the carrier shook slightly. Then there was another thud, this time much louder, and a violent shake that nearly threw him from his seat – and would if had he not been strapped in. He heard a curse come from a man a ways away. Then he heard a voice. The monotone sound was too unclear for Jesse to really make out, but it was definitely somebody calling to him in desperation. "Jesse! JESSE-E-E!!"  
  
  
  
  
"Jesse! Jesse!" At some point during the night, Jesse woke to Kelly's calls. Groggy and disoriented, the young soldier looked up at a seemingly rejuvenated girl. "Jesse!" she repeated, not quite sure if he had waken up yet.  
  
"Ugh, what's going—",  
  
"Jesse! Get your gun!"  
  
"Why? What's goin' on?"  
  
"Troops are coming from the north!"  
  
"How do you know?" Jesse found himself very startled, and quite unsatisfied when he was finally awake enough to notice the movement around him. The huge pieces of moving white armor, which essentially were Directorate infantry, were dashing this way and that, replacing previously removed pieces of armor and shouting things Jesse couldn't hear over the ruckus.  
  
"Rikter just burst through ordering positions and kicking everything around!" Kelly got up on her knees, and anxiously tried to pull Jesse up off the ground.  
  
"Oh, shit." Jesse felt around for his helmet, but couldn't grab hold of it. Somebody had taken it in all the confusion.  
  
"Jesse, c'mon, you can use mine!" Kelly tried handing Jesse hers, but he refused.  
  
"No, put it on and don't take it off!"  
  
"Jesse!"  
  
"Do it!" He moved to an upright position and picked his gauss rifle up off the trench floor. He found himself standing on a battered wooden plank, one of the many that had been placed through the center of the trench as a sort-of makeshift walkway.  
  
"Jesse!" Kelly screamed at him.  
  
He didn't reply as he leaped forward onto a ladder and climbed two steps. His head was poking over the edge, and on the lunar-lit horizon were what appeared to be the shadows of huge formations of advancing soldiers. Since they had come from the north, Jesse automatically inferred that they were under Dominion command. The barbed wire sprawled out across the sandy dunes to his front partially blocked his view, but Jesse could see what was coming clearly enough to know that there were a lot of them. He grabbed a small comm. Device from his side and put it to his mouth. "Squad C, this is commander Jesse Markham. Take positions at the walls immediately, repeat, positions at the walls immediately! If possible, relocate to area 44. Priority alert! Squad C take positions on the wall now!"  
  
Jesse hopped down and stayed close to the side of the trench as a fumbling line of men ran through the center, down the makeshift wooden pathway. When they passed, Jesse closed up to Kelly, who now had a fully armored medic on either side of her, standing ready.  
  
"Kelly," he started, "keep your eye on what's going on if anything happens to me. You know I love ya."  
  
She just sort of stared at him as if he had told her he was pregnant. Jesse didn't wait for her answer as he hoped back onto the ladder and peaked over the edge again. The shadows on the horizon were bigger now, and bouncing up and down. "They're running…" he muttered to himself.  
  
Hordes of men were on the walls of the trench to either side of him. Some also had pieces of armor missing, and others wore no armor at all. Obviously nobody had expected a preemptive attack in the night. "Squad C?" Jesse noted a few hands in the air, and men who had turned to him at attention, but not as many as he could have. "Where the fuck is everybody?" Deciding to go 'off-duty', a good number of men had left their designated area to chat with friends from other squads.  
  
"Sir!" two more soldiers from Jesse's squad hopped from the bottom of the trench and took a place on the wall.   
  
Jesse looked to his behind at Kelly, who was looking back at him. He kept his eyes on her for only a few seconds, but to Jesse, it was long enough to be forever.  
  
"Wheeeeeee, doggah!" Marlon perched himself next to Jesse, and even in the blackness of the night, Jesse could see him smiling.  
  
"Glad you decided to show." Jesse commented to Marlon, fairly angry with him.  
  
"I went for drinks."  
  
"There's booze here?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." Liquor had been strictly prohibited. This pissed Jesse off even more. "Where's everybody else?"  
  
"Not sure; Miguel's around here somewhere. Probably got caught jacking off."  
  
"Oh that's real mature, man."  
  
Marlon looked ahead with ambition. "Just a little closer and you're all mine. Well, maybe not all of you in that sense, but as many of you as dare to get into the sight of Super Marlon!" The brute was clearly half-drunk.  
  
Jesse looked away, disgusted. The effects of his deep sleep had yet to wear off completely, and he found himself a little light headed and woozy. Nevertheless, his grasp on the situation was nothing short of stellar. He relayed orders to the men, instructing some of them to squeeze over and make room for new troops on the wall. He ran his tongue across his upper lip and packaged it into the side of his mouth once it had moved all the way across. The soldiers to his left and right laid their guns over the edge of the sand and positioned their heads low to the ground, giving them protection and more correct aim.  
  
"Hmmm…" Jesse was thinking hard and wondering if there was anything else he could do. He repeated his instructions over the intercom once more, hoping straggling members of his squad would hear them and come back into position.  
  
  
  
  
"Heh heh, all set here, Captain." Samir Duran and a mere handful of men lined up sparsely behind the UED trench, some two hundred yards back. They looked onward, almost as if they were idle observers of the fight to take place.  
  
"You have your orders, Lieutenant. I trust you will execute them without hesitation." Rikter entrusted Duran and his men with a special objective that had never been tried before. It was going to be messy at the front.  
  
  
  
  
"Attention!" Rikter's voice came on, thundering over that of the rest of the noisy soldiers. "Soldiers of the United Earth Directorate, this is your captain. Remain in position. Do not retreat, I repeat, do NOT fall back! Guards have been placed behind the trench. Anyone caught moving backwards will be shot and killed without question on my authority and on the authority of Lieutenant Duran. Fight for the Directorate. Fight for Humanity! All other priorities are secondary to victory!"  
  
The sound of safeties being turned off and guns being planted deeply into the sand at the top of the trench wall followed as an echo to that inspiring sentence of discipline made so often by the Directorate captains. The UED infantry was now a solid wall of killers ready to murder every single Dominion soldier that was about to come at them. The Dominion soldiers had the same hopes about their foes.  
  
"Hold fire." Jesse ordered. He raised his gun and fired a small burst forward to try to determine how far away the enemy was. It didn't work. "Set." He meticulously overlooked the men to his sides.  
  
Marlon was silent, as were the rest. When the dying started, silence wouldn't be found for miles. Jesse took this quick moment as a small blessing.  
  
"Jesse," Marlon began, "a hundred yards."  
  
"What? How do you know?" Jesse looked at Marlon.  
  
"They're trying to get over the barbed wire. Look at it, you can see the shadows crawling and jumping. They aren't running anymore." The barbed wire coils began about a hundred yards from the trench.  
  
"You're right. Squadron C," Jesse waited a moment, and then gave the order. "Fire at anything that moves!"  
  
So with that, the sound of death rang from the metal pipes that fired the high velocity bullets at the remains of the Dominion army. The grunts didn't know what was coming at them or what was going to happen to them. They just knew that they had a job, and their job was to kill. And if they didn't kill, then they would be killed. That's how you got fired for doing a bad job in the army. You were killed in cold blood.  
  
Marlon was almost smiling as he let go of an entire clip. Each shot lit up his face, and his eyes were open as wide as was allowable by his body. To Jesse's utter surprise, Marlon was having fun killing these people. Jesse found himself more disgusted with his attitude each day.  
  
After Marlon's show ended and he stopped to reload, Jesse unleashed his barrage at the mass. The men were so far off, Jesse was positive his bullets were flying astray and barely hitting anything at all. But he had enough ammunition to last the night. He pulled his finger off of the trigger for a moment, allowing his gun to cool. Then he squinted, and fired again. He was positive he hit something. Strangely, Jesse felt a sense of satisfaction with the hit, enough to eliminate the guilt that came with it.  
  
Marlon smashed his arms into the sand again, and with his newly filled cartridge, he began play his little game some more.  
  
From the point of view of the Dominion army, the edge of the trench was clearly cut in the sand. It was a solid line of flashing light, popping, and cries of war. The Dominion army seemed to be tripping over the bodies of its fallen members, which made somewhat of a wall of massing dead. The nimble soldiers advanced rather quickly, however, and avoided the oncoming bullets.  
  
Jesse planted his feet more firmly into the sand and kicked some 'toe holes' into the wall, so he could weight himself down. Without his helmet, falling down could be dangerous. After loading another clip into his gauss rifle, he aimed into the darkness and shot some more. He kept this up for several minutes.  
  
By now, the Dominion infantry was well within the range of sight, diving into the ground and crawling forward against the dusty sand. Jesse had found it difficult to aim at any specific person, and thus had been spraying bullets in all directions. Many of the attacking soldiers took quick dives behind dunes or rocks to catch their breath and reorganize their heads. Bullets flew back and forth, exchanging armies fluently.  
  
A man, fully armored and gun-in-hand, jumped up onto the footing on the edge of the trench, directly next to Jesse. Presently he stood in a spot that had once been occupied by a Marine, who was now laying peacefully on the trench floor, drowning in a pool of blood. He was silent.  
  
"What's it look like over there, soldier?" Jesse asked the man.  
  
Jesse was relieved to see Miguel's face as that marine lifted his visor. Miguel, breathing heavily and still suffering from the effects of sleeping, sputtered some words forward. "The entire eastside of the trench is failing. The dominion infantry was just meters from the edge when I left, some several hundred of them are just plowing over the barbed wire like fifty feet east of us. Somebody fucked it all up. The line's breaking, and they're all fleeing this way. Some of our guys tried running away, but Rikter's right, somebody's back there are shooting anything that runs."  
  
"Well what's going on to the west of us?"  
  
"It's looking good on that side, but I can't be sure. They're going to hold it from what I've been hearing on the comm., but I'm worried that the…"  
  
Miguel's voice drowned out of Jesse's head for a moment as he peered back at the floor of the trench. About 5 feet away, Kelly was on her knees, her supplies sprawled out over the ground, as she feverishly worked to heal what looked like a vicious wound on one of the men.  
  
"Er, what?" Jesse said.  
  
Miguel looked at him strangely for a moment, and then repeated himself. "I said, I'm worried that they're going to start using the tanks, Jesse. You need to get a helmet on!"  
  
"Tanks? Why?"  
  
"I saw Rikter, he's been pondering it. He says they're going to pierce the east side of the trench, and flood us out from inside. But everything's a mess, Jesse. He can't even speak to the commanders or anything. Communications are totally cut off, and I think he's going to let the tanks go anyway. There's so many of us without armor, Jesse, the heat's going to totally kill us.  
  
Then the screeching sound of the tanks adjusting the position of their nozzles filled the air. Through the smoke and dust surrounding his head, Jesse was able to see them roll into position and lay out into siege mode, just meters behind the trench.  
  
"Oh, shit, shit, shit!" Jesse hollered. He stumbled backward, falling from the footing of the trench onto a body upon the floor.  
  
"Jesse!" Kelly screamed, dropping her belongings, unsure if he had been shot.  
  
Jesse got up so quickly he could have bounced from the ground. "Helmet! I need a Helmet!"  
  
"Here, take mine!" She hollered in a relieved but surprised tone.  
  
He slapped her hand away from her head. "No, keep it on, Dammt!" He got on the comm. device and gave an order. "Everybody who can hear this, get fully armored and pressurized! The tanks are warming up! Hurry!"  
  
Marlon jumped from the footing, and removed a helmet from a nearby body, placing it on his head. He turned on the suit's atmospheric function, and latched the helmet onto his armor.  
  
Meanwhile, Jesse scrambled on the ground, feverishly searching for a helmet that didn't have a puncture in it. After searching through several bodies, Kelly found one and rushed it over to him.   
  
"Here, hurry, hurry!" She cried, placing it on his head.  
  
Jesse, in his rush, was far too frantic to adjust the helmet properly. Kelly, with her steady hands, quickly completed Jesse's armor. He turned on the atmospheric feature, and breathed a sigh of relief. Moments later, the thunder of screaming plasma rocked the trench, and as the gaseous residue filled the skies, Jesse witnessed several men in the area squirm and twist in pain, screaming and holding their arms over their heads as the flopped upon the ground like fish, their skin slowly peeling from their bodies. Jesse felt a rush of vomit in his throat, and pushed it back down. He touched visors with Kelly, and climbed back onto the trench's wall. A second volley of plasma shot over his head, landing about ten meters in front of him. As they made contact with the ground, rocks, bodies, and pieces of bodies burst through the air in all directions. Hundreds of oncoming soldiers fell, injured or dead, or worse, if that was possible. Jesse wasn't looking at the LED on his combat suit, but it read the temperature as 267 degrees Celsius.  
  
Jesse's comm. had been filled with static for some time now, but he could make out a faint voice over the speaker. The words were muddled. "Forces … made…. –ench … repeat … into … heading …"  
  
Jesse pondered this for a minute. He watched more plasma burst upon contact with the battlements, and more bodies become airborne. Then he noticed his gun had been taken from its spot at the trench's edge. Who the culprit was, he was uncertain. He made a trip to a dead body on the floor once again, and took the gun. Jesse, rushing with adrenaline, took aim at the head of a man peeking beyond a dune of sand, and pulled the trigger. The head snapped backwards, and the body fell over.  
  
  
  
  
"If anybody can hear this, the Dominion special forces have reached the trench!" A Directorate soldier, breathing heavily and desperately screaming over the comm. waves, tried his best to alert his comrades to the ensuing danger. "Repeat, Dominion has reached the trench! The east point has fallen, and they're heading west through the lines. Hurry, stop them, stop them!"  
  
It was at that point that a single bullet entered the boy's skull. Standing behind him was a slim man, holding a C-10 canister rifle. However he wasn't in armor. Instead, he wore the lightweight clothes of the frightful Terran ghost, a psychic unit capable of becoming invisible at whim. The ghosts represented the true evolutionary capabilities of the Human race, and epitomized the height of physical and mental conditioning. They were the greatest single unit that could be deployed by the Dominion, and several of them had entered the Directorate trench.  
  
  
  
  
A solid line of Directorate marines still held the wall of the trench some quarter mile from its easternmost point, standing shoulder to shoulder, their guns were dug into the chin-height sand at the edge of the trench and heads were lowered for personal protection. However, both sides seemed to hold a ceasefire.  
  
"Miguel, any news about the east side?" Jesse turned his head to his left, where Miguel currently fiddled with his receptor.  
  
"I can't hear a thing, Jesse. I don't know what's happening."  
  
Jesse looked at the LED on the side of his gun. 73 rounds. He had no spare ammunition left. "It kind of gives you a feeling of uncertainty, not being able to know what's going on."  
  
"I'm sure it's fine."  
  
"You." Jesse looked one man past Marlon on his right side. "I want you to run down to the east side and see if everything's alright. Get back ASAP and report."  
  
"Sir!" The marine took off, down the trench floor.  
  
Jesse jumped back onto the body-ridden walkway, which flattened the uneven crusty floor of the trench, and stood in front of Kelly. Checking his LED, the temperature outside had cooled to 29 degrees Celsius. He opened his visor, and she opened hers.  
  
"You feeling okay?" He questioned.  
  
"Peachy." Her mystery illness had either taken a back seat, or had left her altogether. "It's almost morning." She reminded. The lanterns in the trench had hardly served to adequately light the shelter.   
  
Jesse looked into the skies. A hint of natural light seemed to brighten the night. "It's been a long night."  
  
Kelly's gloves were drenched in Human blood. She and Jesse learned against the wall of the trench. It was at this point that Jesse noticed something peculiar. Among the silence of the soldiers, a faint rustling sound could be heard in the near distance, uncharacteristic to the armor of any of the men. Jesse watched as the middle of one of the boards at the foot of the trench bent downward, creaked, and then returned to its normal position. Then, one of the dead suits of armor feigned gentle movement. In tandem, the board closest to Jesse bent, only it remained bent and did not creak. Jesse strained his eyes to look at this. Then he looked upward, at about head's height, for a moment. He continued to stare like this for some time.  
  
Jesse heard the sound of falling dirt beside him. Startled, he looked at the wall to his left, to find what appeared to be an imprint upon it. Then, he heard the sound of a gun safety being removed. He jerked his eyes up to the marines on the trench wall, but none of them displayed even the slightest sign of movement.  
  
"Hey, listen." Jesse said to Kelly. "They're understaffed to the west. I've talked with Rikter, he said that we've got to spare as many medical staff as possible. Jesse simply looked at her, with an urgent display on his face.  
  
"Okay. Bye bye, hon." She said, and dashed down the trench. Jesse wondered about Kelly. Every now and then, she did things that he couldn't understand. Lately, she had been doing things almost as if she knew what he wanted before he even had to ask.  
  
When she was out of sight, Jesse climbed back onto the footing. He tapped both Miguel and Marlon on their helmets, and opened his visor. They opened theirs too. Jesse whispered something to both of them, to which they nodded in reply. All three men closed their visors, and Jesse hopped back down to the floor. Testing a hunch, Jesse walked towards the bent wooden plank. The plank bent back to its normal shape, and suddenly a small round imprint, about the size of a foot, appeared in the dirt next to it.  
  
Jesse then walked to where the imprint had been upon the wall, and not surprisingly, more dirt fell to the ground as Jesse moved in front of it. Checking his gun again, his ammunition count hadn't changed since his last glance. He put his finger tightly on the trigger.  
  
Then, Miguel swung around, his leg flailing through the air at barely sub-sonic speeds, until it made contact with something in the dim light. A groan was heard, followed by the sound of something falling, and finally a small uprising of a cloud dust and sand. Marlon, from the footing, released a spray of bullets towards the ground. And from the nothingness, a spatter of blood littered the ground and clearly outlined of a Humanoid creature. Then Jesse lifted his gun to the air and fired a small burst to a place where he believed another of the invisible men had been standing. Blood, and then a loud fall.  
  
Jesse then saw what he had feared. One by one, his men fell from the footing, lifelessly, a single piece of metal the shape of a bullet sitting contently in their brains. He fired a shot down the trench, trying to hit what he couldn't see, but he hit nothing. More of his men fell to the ground. Then, those who still hadn't noticed what was happening opened fire on the field in front of the trench as the Dominion strike force charged forward. More Directorate soldiers fell.  
  
Miguel, a bullet ricocheting off his helmet, fell to the ground in utter shock. Marlon ran out of bullets, and crouched beneath the edge of the trench as he desperately tried to reload. Jesse could clearly see the bright flares of screaming UED guns in the distance, further down the trench.   
  
As Jesse tried desperately to discern the location of the invisible men, he stopped in disbelief. What had originally been a line of marines locked shoulder-to-shoulder as far as the eye could see had been reduced to a staggered, failing line. Spaces two meters or greater could be found separating some of the soldiers. Still firing with determination, the trench defenders threw everything they had at the oncoming militia, while fighting with the internal threat within the trench: The Dominion Ghosts.  
  
It soon became clear that 'everything' wasn't nearly enough, when the Dominion militia began to enter the trench.  
  
"They're inside!" Jesse cried.  
  
"They are!" Another man turned and fired upon those invaders that he could.  
  
Marlon, now reloaded, got up and unleashed hell, sending at least five Dominion troops to the ground. Jesse, wisely using his precious last ammunition, shot at a soldier, who fell to the ground in response. It was now impossible to move in the trench; the Directorate soldiers tried desperately to push back the Dominion attackers as they filled every space possible. Many guns had been abandoned for hand-to-hand combat, as soldiers tackled each other and fought to remove their opponent's helmet. From Jesse's point of view, all that could be seen was arms waving throughout the air, and interlocked fingers as soldiers struggled to subdue each other. He wondered if the same thing was happening in other areas of the trench. He worried about his girlfriend. In the chaos, Jesse couldn't determine who was going to win, or who had more men. Then two soldiers tackled him to the ground. As he struggled to achieve some kind of prominence over the two, he found himself desperately trying to keep his helmet shut. In the hands of one of the soldiers was a knife.  
  
Jesse's fears were put to rest, however, when reinforcements poured over the friendly side of the trench. Jesse had never been so happy so be surrounded by those clad-white militias.  
  
  
  
  
As he struck down the last of the red-armored attackers, Jesse looked up. The trench, now a complete disaster area, was no longer threatened. However the result of the battle was difficult to look upon. The few Dominion marines who had managed to survive climbed over the wall, making a last vein attempt to escape death – but they were all shot before they could escape. Jesse stood knee-high in bodies. Blood flowed through the corpses like a river, staining the hooves of Jesse's combat armor. The ground of the trench was no longer visible, as it was completely covered by bodies. It was simply unbearable.  
  
"Forces of the United Earth Directorate," A booming voice came over Jesse's comm. "This is Admiral Gerard DuGalle. I sincerely apologize for the lack of radio communications between the whole of you. The error was not a mistake on the part of any of you. I have only now been informed of your valiant success in holding the outer trench against the massive Dominion onslaught. I am proud to be able to call you soldiers of Earth."  
  
Jesse was breathing heavily, still drenched in sweat, and his legs were ready to give out from all the physical combat. He slowly removed his helmet as he listened to the Admiral's speech, as the first twinkle of true sunlight shone over the valley of death.  
  
"Humbly, I must ask of you one last thing before you can rest. The heavy casualties suffered by Mengsk's forces may have put his armies into shock. Before he has time to reinforce his garrison, we must make a second advance upon the city. Captain Rikter and Lieutenant Duran will lead you to the second trench, which you must infiltrate and liberate from the Terran soldiers. God's speed to you all."  
  
So the United Earth Directorate advanced further toward Augustgrad. Pushing into the second trench, their arrival saw the retreat of its garrison. Now, with only one trench remaining before the city, final victory over the Terran Dominion seemed assured.   
  
Jesse went back to sleep on the ground of the new trench. This time he was happy to note that there was not a single body tainting the ground. Kelly slept beside him, and Marlon and Miguel, still quite awake, talked livelily while they watched over the cozy couple. Even Paul showed up to celebrate in his own way.  
  
While the Directorate boasted at their victory, Emperor Mengsk sat in his room with the large window. He looked over his last trench – the only barrier separating the Human invaders from total conquest of his empire. He could not sleep this morning. 


	15. Chapter Ten: Flight to Covenant

CHAPTER TEN  
FLIGHT TO COVENANT  
  
April 1, 7: 02 AM  
Outside "The Keep"  
Newly Conquered City of Augustgrad  
  
The Terran Dominion has been defeated. Arcturus Mengsk is still alive.  
  
The Directorate assault on the inner trench came exactly 24 hours after moving into the second trench, and the fighting lasted several hours. A number of retreats were made, and reinforcements were deployed by the hour, to replace the wounded, in the massive battle. Of the estimated five hundred thousand men and women who actively stood against the Directorate during the siege of Augustgrad, no survivors have been found. The bodies are still being counted.  
  
Shortly after taking the inner trench, Directorate forces literally walked into and occupied the city of Augustgrad, forcing martial law and standing day and night against the violent protests mounted by Augustgrad's citizens. Although fragments of the Dominion garrison remain scattered throughout the innards of the city, the majority of them are in hiding, and most of those who have not hid have been killed. As the days progress, the citizens of Augustgrad grow more content with the new occupancy within their city. But not everything has settled down yet.  
  
One fortress remains at the northeastern edge of the city. After the Directorate occupied Augustgrad, Arcturus Mengsk and a mere handful of soldiers retreated into what has been dubbed The Keep. Built high above the streets on a hill several meters tall, the solid bunker likely goes down several stories, and has resisted two days of heavy bombings from the air, and appears impregnable on the ground. To make matters worse, it is nearly impossible to visually scout. Snipers within its confines seem to have a series of very tiny holes (too small to shoot at), which they use to monitor the perimeter of the compound. Directorate soldiers have tried to poke their head into the open in order to get a clean look at the facility, but have been killed by the expert shooters within. Directorate infantry and a number of tanks have blocked off all roads and paths leading to this bunker, so this circular blockade ensures that its occupants have no way of escaping. However the length of time Mengsk and his troops will be able to survive in this facility remains indefinite. The Directorate command has acknowledged the high likelihood of the garrison having access to years worth of supplies, however the risk in attacking it appears too great. So now they wait.  
  
The mornings on Korhal, to Jesse at least, were the most unpleasant of any planet. The sun was instantaneously hot. In a matter of minutes, the temperature shot from about five degrees Celsius to thirty degrees. The air filled with dirt and dust, and breathing was nothing less than uncomfortable. The sun shone upon the city with a vengeance, and to the foreign occupants, maintaining their integrity in this hostile environment was often more difficult than dealing with the locals.  
  
Jesse, Kelly, and another soldier from Squad C had been posted at one of the road blocks, at an intersection a little less than seventy-five yards from The Keep. The road was about five meters across, and was made of pale orange dirt. The three were covered behind a pile of sandbags, four feet high, that stretched the width of the road, from a two-story, abandoned building on the left to a taller, newer building to the right. Jesse sat in the middle of the road, manning a Colby A-A 47 gun. This monstrosity of a gun was mounted on a rotating mechanism, and was a standard-issue anti-aircraft weapon. Capable of piercing the armor of a batlecruiser (with time), this weapon fired a denser type of bullet, three-times the size of those from the standard gauss rifle, and would ensure that any attempted escape by Mengsk or his troops would be futile. To Jesse's immediate left was Kelly, holding a gauss rifle and outfitted in standard medical armor. To Jesse's right was the other soldier, a marine, also with a gauss rifle. All three had their helmets off, and were eating a warm breakfast that had just been delivered to them. A few meters behind them, a hulking Arclite-class siege tank stood in siege mode, a powerful assistant to offer cover fire in the case that infantry might have to expose themselves to the snipers. There were twenty-five blockades like this, arranged in a circle-like pattern, completely surrounding The Keep.  
  
The area was declared a combat zone, and the citizens in all nearby homes had been temporarily evicted, for their own protection. This, however, went over quite badly, considering they were forbidden from taking any belongings with them.  
  
Whatever disease Kelly had a few days ago seemed to be gone now, or had at least taken a back seat to her immune system. The doctors, however, were still unable to classify it, and labeled it as quite suspicious. They had taken some of the girl's DNA to run tests, yet everything appeared normal.  
  
"Another protest going on, at the south of the city," Jesse said, listening to messages coming over his comm. "A big one."  
  
"What's going on this time?" Kelly inquired.  
  
"Kids," Jesse started. "A bunch of kids drew signs about freedom or something. Of course the guys responded, lining up and pointing guns at them. I guess that's when the kids got violent, and got shot at."  
  
"That's terrible!"  
  
"That's not right. For the love of God, it's not right!"  
  
The three sat in silence for the next half-hour, listening half-peaceably to the announcements coming over Jesse's comm.  
  
"We're just doing our job. It'll be over in a few years." The soldier said. He was unshaven for several days, and had long black hair.  
  
"Men in my company are clean shaven every day." Jesse spat at him.  
  
"Y—yes, sir. Sorry."  
  
A slow wind streamed through, as the temperature slowly climbed to an expected fourty degrees celcius.  
  
"Look!" Kelly pointed. About fifty feet away was a small child wandering through the streets. The boy was dark-skinned, wearing a diaper, and appeared to have no clothes. He was obviously lost. "Oh, Jesse! We have to do something."  
  
"Shit," Jesse spat again, antagonized by the problem. "Stay here." He placed his helmet on, and locked it into position. "Activate standard life support. Fifteen degrees Celsius." A breath of cool air overtook his body. "Guys, cover me."  
  
Kelly and the soldier put on their helmets, got onto their knees, and began short bursts toward the bunker. The tank to the rear warmed up its cannon. Jesse dashed forward, back from the sandbags, towards the small boy. He jumped when a sniper bullet hit the ground about a foot to his left. He ran in a jagged, zig-zag pattern. He heard a blast from the tank, and then the sound of a phenomenal slam as the plasma hit The Keep. Two more bullets hit the ground on either side of him. Jesse approached the small child, running extremely fast, and picked him up. Then he dove into a crevice between two buildings and landed on his back, the boy safely in his arms. The boy began to cry, and paused when Jesse removed his helmet.  
  
"Commander," Jesse heard Rikter's voice on the comm "What the hell is going on over there?"  
  
"Sir, I've picked up a civilian. He was wandering in the open streets." Jesse responded.  
  
"So what the fuck? You shoot the bastard."  
  
"He's a child, sir. In a diaper."  
  
"I—are the two of you safe?"  
  
"We've achieved cover, but I won't be able to get back to the blockade, I don't think."  
  
"Listen, I'm tracking you, and I'll send a man to your position. Turn the child over to him. When the cargo is turned over, contact me, and we'll drop another smoke bomb on the bunker. We've got two left, and I'm not using another one on you. Got it?"  
  
"Sir!" Jesse acknowledged.  
  
"Rikter out."  
  
Jesse looked at the boy. He was filthy, and must have been starving. His ribs could be seen through his stomach.  
  
"Hi, little one," Jesse started. "Can you talk?"  
  
The boy stared at Jesse. His lips hesitated as he whimpered. He looked as if he was about to cry, but then held it back.  
  
"I guess you're not old enough, huh? How old are you? One? And a half?"  
  
Kelly's voice came on the comm. "Jesse! Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine, hon." Jesse answered.  
  
"And the baby?"  
  
"A little hungry and dirty, but he's okay. Somebody's bound to look for him sooner or later. Rikter's sending someone over to pick him up."  
  
"Good, good. Where are you?"  
  
"There's a crevice between two buildings, we'll be safe here."  
  
"Thank God. How are you going to get back to us?"  
  
"Rikter's helping. Sit tight."  
  
"Okay."  
  
The boy in Jesse's hands waved his arms frantically, and began crying immediately after. Jesse tried to calm him, but the child continued freaking out.  
  
"Oh, come on kid, quiet down, come on!" Jesse rocked him gently.  
  
With the rocking, the child calmed.  
  
"That's it, you're a good kid."  
  
"Ai'beeb! Ai'beeb! Badaba!" The youngster screamed, and resumed his tantrum.  
  
Jesse tried for several minutes to get the child to stop.   
  
"Dala! Dala'gra!"  
  
"What the hell…" Jesse spoke, startled, "You can't form words yet? Who are your parents?"   
  
"He can speak just fine." A female said. It was a marine who had entered the alleyway from Jesse's left.   
  
This startled Jesse.  
  
"Something the matter, commander?"  
  
"Uh, no. Sorry, Lieutenant. I just thought you would be, well, a guy."  
  
She hummed as she knelt beside Jesse and watched the child cry. She then grabbed him from Jesse arm's, and held it as if it were her own child. "It's a beautiful language. It really is." She said, not looking at Jesse, and poking the boy in the belly button. This made him laugh.  
  
"Language?"  
  
"Many years ago, on Earth, there used to be languages. They were dialects used by different cultures to communicate in their own way. Sometime in the last few hundred years, all the languages on Earth were banned, and a global language was declared. The language was English, since more than half of the world spoke it fluently. Today, we don't acknowledge languages, but the one we all speak now is still English. Just because they've been banned on all the planets of Sol doesn't mean languages don't exist elsewhere. Terrans were free people in this aspect. The different worlds in Koprulu developed new languages to better accommodate and describe the environment they lived in. Of course everybody still speaks English, but some of them know an extra language or two."  
  
"Wow. I had no idea."  
  
"You wouldn't. They don't teach us about language anymore. The Directorate government will kill you if you know a second language. They don't know I speak French. My whole family does." She winked.  
  
"I won't tell. Do you think you could tell me how to speak French too?"  
  
The girl laughed. "It takes quite a few years to learn a new language, mister. And I wouldn't want to spread this like a rumor, so no, I won't teach you."  
  
"Then why do you speak it if it's illegal?"  
  
"Because language is the only cultural diversity left on Earth. Face it, we've all been assimilated."  
  
"I don't get it."  
  
"You wouldn't." She said again, very condescendingly.  
  
"Take the kid."  
  
"Hey," she paused, "Can I see you again?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Never mind. Sorry."  
  
"Oh, um. No. Well, I mean, I have a girlfriend already. Sorry."  
  
"I figured you would, cute guy like you." Jesse didn't reply as she walked away.  
  
"Wait!" He yelled.  
  
"Yep?"  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
She didn't reply. She simply turned away and hugged the boy close to her chest.  
  
Jesse wasn't sure why he wanted her name. He was probably just flattered. Jesse spoke into his comm. "Captain, this is commander Markham, do you read me?"  
  
"Loud and clear, commander." Rikter responded.  
  
"The cargo has been delivered."  
  
"Good. Wait for my signal, and return to your station."  
  
"Gladly, sir."  
  
  
  
  
Low on his knees, in a sprinting position, Jesse licked his lips as he bobbed up and down. He made an O with his mouth, and breathed heavily, circulating the oxygen through his blood.  
  
The shade of the crevice was peaceful. The sun on the streets was obviously excruciating. The heat caused the air around the street to blur, and the wind kept sand and dirt high above head-height.  
  
"Get ready, commander." Rikter ordered on the comm.  
  
"Ready, sir."  
  
Jesse heard a wraith zoom in overhead. A few seconds later, an explosion. He waited.  
  
"GO!"  
  
And Jesse dashed out from between the two buildings. The bunker was covered in thick smog and could hardly be seen, but something wasn't right. Gunfire, from an automatic weapon, sprayed across the road only a few feet nearby. Jesse zigzagged along the road, but the fire followed, inching closer. The bullet from a sniper inches past his head, missing by only an inch, and leaving a scratch on his helmet.  
  
"Shit!" Jesse screamed in desperation. He slipped on the dirt road, and came within a hair of losing his footing. Somehow, he held himself up with his right arm, and propelled himself forward. He dashed to the right, and the gunfire followed by inches. Jesse' scrambling body was trailed by clouds of dust, raised into the air by the impact of the bullets on the road. He made another dash to the left, faked right again, and rolled forward. Something hit his left arm, jolting it back.  
  
"Warning: Internal pressurization has been lost." Jesse's armor responded.   
  
A bullet had punctured the suit, but Jesse kept going – only a few feet to go. He shot himself into the air, jerked to the right, and dove forward, landing two feet from the sandbags. Kelly reached out and pulled him in by the arms. Jesse pulled his legs into his body, and ducked behind the sandbags. The gunfire stopped. The entire road was filled with a cloud of dust, too thick to see through.  
  
"Are you okay?" Kelly asked, suspiciously calmly.  
  
"I lost pressure, something went through."  
"You're fine."  
  
"How do you know? You haven't looked yet."  
  
"Let me see your arm." Kelly grabbed Jesse's left arm, and examined it closely. There was a single bullet hole in the front side, and another on the backside. The bullet that pierced Jesse's armor had skinned his arm and gone out the other side, only barely missing a vital vein. "It's okay," she concluded, "The bullet went through."  
  
Jesse, breathing heavily, stopped and looked at her in silence. "How did she know?" He thought to himself.  
  
"Commander, are you alright?" The soldier at the sandbags asked.  
  
"Just fine."  
  
Kelly uncoupled Jesse's helmet, and took it off for him. His face was bright red, and he was shaking with adrenaline.  
  
"How did they see me through the smoke?" Jesse said aloud. "How could they see me?"  
  
Rikter started talking to Jesse. Jesse explained the situation. Rikter determined that they now had infrared capabilities.  
  
  
  
  
By 3:00, Jesse had thrown up three times. Without the ability of his suit to pressurize, he had no atmospheric protection, and he had grown quite sick because of it. There was no way for someone to supply Jesse with a replacement at the current time, so he had to suffer until nightfall, when it would be possible to sneak a man along the wall without being spotted from the bunker. All three soldiers were hungry. Night was many hours away.  
  
The debris in the air had settled now, and the oxygen was clean. Airstrikes upon the bunker resumed, and lasted intermittently for about an hour. Still, The Keep stood.  
  
  
  
  
It was about 4:30 when Jesse noticed a large mob of people walking down the street, directly towards the blockade. When they were close enough to pick out, the three soldiers determined that these were unarmed civilians.  
  
They gathered in the street, with grim faces aimed at the soldiers. Most of them were young men, but there were a few older men, and even some children in the group.  
  
The soldier handed Jesse a megaphone.  
  
"This is a combat zone. You may not be here. Return to your homes immediately." Jesse ordered.  
  
The mob grew boisterous, and began chanting. Another protest.  
  
"I repeat, this is a combat zone! That is – this area is restricted. Turn back immediately. Do not return until you have been informed that it is safe for you to do so!"  
  
The mob screamed hateful words and taunts at the soldiers, all but challenging them.  
  
"Return to your homes. NOW! This area is a combat zone. Your lives may be in danger!"  
  
An older man from the mob stepped forward. "Yea right, man! These are our homes! Get the hell out and leave us in peace!"  
  
Jesse was growing impatient. He picked up a gauss rifle and loaded a full clip into it. "I'll tell you one more time. This area is a combat zone, and is restricted. Leave immediately."  
  
"We're sick and tired of this!" the man shouted, "Go away! Go back to Earth, and tell them they can all go to hell! Let us live in peace!"  
  
"We're here to protect you, whether you realize this or not. I apologize for this inconvenience, but you must return to your designated area until the combat zone has been deemed safe!"  
  
"Go to fuckin' hell, man." The old man screamed. He turned toward the mob, and was handed something by another man. He turned back toward Jesse, with an automatic gun in his right hand. He pointed it to the sky, and fired a spray of bullets upward. The crowed chanted louder.  
  
Immediately, the three soldiers took the safeties off their weapons and pointed them at the crowd.  
  
"Put the gun down! Drop it, drop it now!" The soldier next to Jesse ordered.  
  
"Blow me, man!" The man from the crowd said, and pointed it toward the soldier.  
  
Jesse spoke on his comm. device. "This is commander Markham, blockade 22. We are being confronted by armed, hostile, civilians, repeat: armed hostiles. Requesting permission to fire."  
  
"Are you being fired upon?" Rikter responded.  
  
"Not yet, but they have fired the gun into the air."  
  
"Negative, commander. Do not open fire."  
  
The man in the crowed cussed violently at the soldiers as he threatened to shoot.  
  
"These are armed hostiles. Once again, requesting permission to fire upon armed hostiles."  
  
"Negative, commander. Do not fire until fired upon."  
  
A teenager stepped out from the mob, with a bottle in his hand. From the tip of the bottle was a dirty rag. The boy lit the rag on fire, and boasted it into the air.  
  
Jesse aimed at him. "Put the fire out! Put it out! No fires here!"  
  
The boy, in complete insubordination, threw the bottle at the soldier next to Jesse. It broke upon his unprotected head, covering him with a liquid, and microseconds later, exploding into an inferno of fire. The soldier screamed and jumped into the air, and as a bullet from The Keep entered his head, he fell to the ground, dead as a rock. Kelly and Jesse immediately shot at the boy, hitting him in the chest. He fell to the ground, quickly encircled in a pool of blood.  
  
Another cocktail flew out from within the crowd, landing just inches from Kelly, who also was without a helmet. The nearby road burst into flames. Kelly screeched and instinctively backed away from the fire. The old man pointed the gun at Kelly, and barely a second before he would have pulled the trigger, Jesse sprayed a barrage of bullets toward him. The man dropped the gun and fell to the ground. Another boy jumped from the crowed, and picked up the gun. He fired it into the air.  
  
"Backup! We are under attack by a hostile mob. SEND BACKUP!" Jesse pleaded at the comm.  
  
Another cocktail flew over the crowd and directly toward Jesse, who dove out of the way and took cover next to the siege tank. The tank was unable to help at this close range.  
  
Kelly fired at the crowd. The boy with the gun shot back, but was too young and too weak to hold it steady. He sprayed bullets up into the sky.  
  
Jesse hesitated a moment before firing into the crowd. Another cocktail came at them, exploding on the side of the tank.  
  
"Fuck this shit!" Jesse dove toward the anti-aircraft gun. He jolted it 180 degrees, and pointed it at the crowd. They halted and silenced. Jesse picked up the megaphone again.  
  
"Return to your homes immediately. This will be your final warning."  
  
It didn't even phase the hostiles, who resumed chanting and cussing. Another cocktail shot wildly from the crowd, missing Jesse by more than ten feet  
  
Jesse, in a fit of rage, opened fire on the mob. In the first second, at least five were wounded and fell to the ground. Another man with a gun came to the front and tried to shoot Jesse, but Jesse was quick to react. He fired again, wounding the armed man and two others. The crowd threw two more cocktails as it broke and fled. One of them flew directly at Jesse, who gently pushed it aside. After making contact with his hand, it combusted, and the flame almost singed Jesse's face. The angry commander opened fire on the retreating crowed one more time, and watched as at least six or seven more civilians fell. Their blood sprayed throughout the air, spattering in all directions. He continued shooting, hoping to hit more of them.  
  
"Jesse!" Kelly screamed, "Stop!" She crawled toward him and pulled him off of the big gun.  
  
The crowed continued its retreat for several blocks, and Jesse and Kelly watched as the soldiers sent in response to the backup call shot down each and every last one of them. Kelly's jaw dropped as she inspected the nearby civilian casualties. Nobody moved, except for one man: the man who had originally held the gun. He twisted and squirmed in the street, groaning in pain. His agonizing calls tortured Kelly's mind. She tried to reach out to him, but bullets from The Keep zoomed past her. She ducked behind the sandbags again. A tear rolled down her cheek as she aimed and fired at the man's head, putting him out of his misery.  
  
Jesse breathed heavily, gritting his teeth. He smashed his fist into the dirt, and looked at the burned out remains of the soldier in his squad. "I," he stuttered, "I didn't catch his name."  
  
Kelly inched away from Jesse, and curled herself into a ball. She did not feel comfortable next to him right now. For the first time, Kelly had seen Jesse become savage.  
  
Nighttime was growing near.  
  
  
  
  
April 1, 8: 25 PM  
S.S. Hyperion  
Flagship of Jim Raynor's Rebel faction  
  
Jim Raynor was a patient man, but in light of recent events, he had run out of options. Each day, the Directorate military seized an increased position of power with the Terran people. If Raynor's plan were to be successful, he would require as many troops as possible. His spies had already infiltrated all major cities on Korhal, and had begun recruiting for Raynor's new militia.  
  
Time was short, and this mission was of utmost importance. A team of six Protoss scoutships, a carrier, and two Terran battlecruisers had managed to pass through the main Directorate fleet without detection, and were steeling themselves for the upcoming raid. The primary mission objective was to rescue Arcturus Mengsk from his captivity within The Keep, and the secondary mission was to liberate a number of his PSI emitters to safety outside the sector.  
  
Raynor and Mengsk were two members of a four-man team that could still have the ability to overthrow the Directorate presence here. Mengsk didn't know it yet, but Jim Raynor and Sarah Kerrigan, his two greatest foes before the Directorate, were about to become his best friends, and his only chance to win back his people.  
  
Raynor was on the bridge of his command ship with Artanis, high Praetor of the Protoss civilization (or what was left of it). The two were engaged in a fast-paced conversation.  
  
"It is imperative that we succeed here, Jim." Artanis included.  
  
"I know, I know." Raynor was distressed and tired.  
  
"You saw the Directorate fleet, as I did. It stretches on for hundreds of miles. Even our combined forces are incapable of standing against it."  
  
"Hundred of miles… it's like a big, thick wall. It just keeps going. There must have been hundreds of thousands of ships – millions and millions of troops. I don't want to say it, but, God almighty, considering the state of things around here, they've got enough firepower to conquer everything from here to the edge of the galaxy."  
  
  
  
  
FROM THE AUTHOR  
  
Thank you for taking such an interest in my story, The Iron Fist. Many hard hours were spent writing this, my first novel, and I believe that I am now ready to move on to the next level. The Iron Fist is at this point only about 35% complete, and the true plot of the story hasn't taken effect yet, however I believe I have gone as far as I could go with it. I have reached the limits of what I can accomplish in a pre-constructed science fiction world. Please don't think I'm leaving you hanging, because that's not my intention. I sincerely apologize for not being able to finish The Iron Fist, and I hope that you will be able to understand my decision to discontinue its creation. Again, thank you for giving me the chance, and I hope you've enjoyed what you've read.  
  
The end…? 


End file.
